Cardsharp
by An Cathal Toirmisce
Summary: For a gambler there are no gray areas. You win or you lose. You live or you die. I was forced to choose from the cards put in my hands; I had to choose between Anne Featherstone and Lucy Pevensie. Anne/Edmund/Lucy VERY, VERY AU!
1. Choosing Roulette

**A/N: Guess who's off hiatus even though she still has seven days left of school! No, not Mr. Tumnus, you silly goose. It's me. **

I stood around the roulette table; tense, my throat parched, hands quivering. The dwarf sat in the center, bowstring pulled, ready to let go and make a fatality of the players. Quick as lightning, the arrow flew, conveniently through a gap in two players across from me, allowing me to breathe a sigh of relief; I had lived through another game of Narnian roulette. Once you start, you cannot stop until it is the last man standing. This, my friend, is real Narnian roulette. It is like playing with fire, only it's not simply a matter of being burned or not; you live or you die. It is life, and life against the complete, utter opposite. It is light and dark. It is Narnian roulette or your sanity. If you lived in my world, you would find that most people chose roulette, as did I; forced to chose this option for a world in which I felt belonging to.

The dwarf pulled his bowstring again and they began to wind up the table; I slipped out from the game, behind a rather husky man, and attempted to find my father. I crowded my way around groups of fighting men, satyrs, fauns, beasts, and dryads, as always careful not to get in the way, for sake of my own blood spilled. Then I went and dodged through the drunken stupors of the other tavern-goers. A satyr wrapped his arm around me and confessed that he never had a friend like me, and would I, please, never leave him again, almost force-feeding me from his bottle of rum. After a bit of a struggle, I managed to make my way passed the drunkards (my new satyr 'friend,' might I add, was not pleased with this at all, and burst into a fit of tears) and over to the poker tables.

When I finally found my father, he was up against a Calormene with a dirty smirk on his face I would have liked to wipe off. It was bad, not only did the money on the table out-weight all that I had won that night, and all that we came with in the first place, but father had almost triple what we had in the center of the table, and he was losing. If he continued at this rate, my great-grandchildren would owe money to this Calormene.

"Drop out," I hissed into his ear, "We can't pay this. Unless you've got an ace up your sleeve—literally, we're done for. Mother won't be able to take you losing everything. Again."

Father scowled at me; I could tell immediately that he was drunk. "Little sons dun't tell me what to dos," he said, grabbing my own satchel of winnings and putting it in the center of the table before I could so much as flinch about it. These were the only coins on the table; the rest were slips of paper promising the money; promising the money that we did not have.

I was so shocked; I couldn't do anything but stand there, like an idiot. I was tense, sweating, and slack-jawed, pondering if there was a way out of this. It didn't seem like there would be. The last time it was this bad, Father put our house on the table, and we only were able to keep it when Mother pretended to be pregnant, providing the man was kindhearted enough to let us keep our house in the middle of winter.

This Calormene did not seem like the sort. He was entirely sober, I was sure that he was the one who gave my father the drinks to begin with. Why did Father drink it, anyhow? He was the one who taught me to never drink alcohol when gambling; it tears apart your mind, and puts you in situations as he was in at that moment. I thought that, perhaps, Father had tried pulling a bluff in which you pretend to drink and start acting somewhat tipsy, but no; there were too many empty bottles of rum by his side. I inwardly cursed him. In truth, it is best to remain stone cold sober when gambling; I learned that before I was seven.

Before I was old enough to spell my name, I had both the talent and ability to alter the truth to fit the cards dealt to me, in both life and games. Before I could walk, I was able to put the cards in my hands in such patterns to make myself, perhaps, twice as good a gambler as my father.

In seeing the flush the Calormene laid on the table, Father said something that should not be in anyone's vocabulary, much less anyone in front of their son. He claimed, in with his vulgar language and a racial slur or two, saying that he wasn't going to pay any Calormene. I winced. The fact he was drunk would never, and could never, become an excuse for what he said.

That said, it should be understood that this did not make the Calormene very happy. In a moment, he had his whip; not his sword or knife, but his whip out and cracked it in the air. I slipped in my father's way, letting it wrap around my forearm at lightning speed. I felt my skin break, pain shot through me, but I yanked the weapon out of his hands. Before I could even catch my breath, I found that I came down onto a table with force; poker chips and cards flew around me; blood poured out of my nose, I could taste the iron.

I reached down into my boot and grasped my weapon. In taverns, they take away any swords or knives you may have on you, in the chance that a drunkard might want to start a fight. However, they don't always notice weapons that were smuggled in, the Calormene managed, and I always do, with a dagger in my boot. I held it up, bracing for whatever fight might come upon me.

I never got the chance to fight. In a moment, the chap who ran the tavern, a big burly Minotaur, came down upon us, lifting myself and the Calormene in one arm each, as though we were young children and not fully grown men (or nearly fully grown, in my case). The next thing I knew, we were in the snow bank, on our heads no less. Falling out behind us was my father, and three cloaks that didn't belong to any of us. The Calormene griped and grumbled about the cold and something about the 'bolt of Tash.' I kicked him further into the snow bank, only for good measure.

I helped my father to his wobbly feet, throwing the rum-stained, smoky smelling cloak over his shoulders and taking one for myself. Some fellow would find his cloaks missing, I knew; but he would have an exchange for the fur coat I had brought in. I had borrowed it from Mother, and so I could not say if it was worse wearing a drunkard's clothing or a woman's coat on the way back home.

I hate him, I thought as my father leaned on me through the slush ridden and dirty streets. Of course, I did not really believe, or mean, this. My father might have been rough around the edges and a jolly sight too keen on cards and dice for a man so terrible at the games, but the very last thing he was a bad person. He used to talk me out of being afraid of thunder and lightning; he would help Mother with the cleaning, and discipline me if I was being a little beast. Therefore, you see, this drunken man at the tavern, truly, is not the person who Jonathan Martin really was. The real problem was, losing put him into a foul mood, and, considering his losing rate, he was becoming increasingly difficult to live with every year; and when in a foul mood, drunk, hung over, or all three, he became dangerous. He was slowly becoming a man I never knew before; no matter how I tried to cling to the past.

In the warmer months, his gambling addiction was not nearly as extreme; he had the house to care for, therefore, we only went to the tavern once or twice a week, practicing on each other during the other days of the week; betting chores or food for dinner. Winter was the worst; we were usually at the tavern every day for hours and hours on end.

To say that Mother did not like our habits would be a drastic understatement; she hated the way we always had cards in our hands and dice up our sleeves. Sometimes I think she would have left Father, in any way she could have, if it was not for me.

By the time Father and I reached the familiar black and white bricked building I had known to be home, he had vomited all over the street, the bushes, and me. I was ready to get thirty bucketfuls of snow, melt them, and bathe in it for five hours.

Mother saw us bumbling up the driveway, and she ran out the door towards us. "_This _is a regular thing nowadays!" she exclaimed, eyeing my dirtiness and her husband, who was now singing some song about some fellow who lived in a hole and had no friends. She took his weight under one of her shoulders, and together we dragged him into the house, whereupon, he collapsed on the sofa.

"Edmund, dear," Mother said to me now, "are you all right?"

I nodded, "I'm all right as I can be covered in my father's vomit."

Mother looked me up and down, as though noticing what I looked like for the first time, and grimaced. "Perhaps you should go and take a bath. Why is your face covered in blood?" You could tell this is what she wanted to ask from the beginning, but that she knew I would not have answered if she said it at first.

"I had a nosebleed," I said, halfway out the door by this point, "I'm all right."

By the time I finished with my bath, and once again felt clean, with no vomit standing on my skin, and no dried blood caked on, my father was awake again; a cup full of tea on his knee, holding his head. Mother was sewing something with a look that looked something like rage on her face.

On the floor, I found a card lying facedown. I crouched down and found the Knave of Spades looking back at me, etched in silver ink. At one time, we had had an entire deck of cards etched in silver and gold ink, instead of black or red. Frankly, I was surprised we still had any cards from it. We did not have anything of value in those days. I pocketed it and remained in the corner of my house that had become, in that moment, colder than the winter day outside.

The walls were somewhat thin in that house, and the way my bedroom opens up from the hall, with no door to separate it from the rest of the house, I could hear everything once I had decided to retire. Father still had a sore head, but Mother, naturally, had to share her feelings on the subject.

"It's one thing," she said, as she often did, "for you to be gone all days to Aslan knows where, coming back at any hour at all, giving away everything we own; but another entirely to take my son with you! Jon, he's my son as well, and I do _not_ like Edmund being in these situations!"

"Rose," my father said, in a voice that indicated, clearly, that he did not wish to discuss the subject for the moment, "Edmund is good at it. He's half the reason I'm not in debtor's prison right now; if we combine our winnings and losing, typically we're able to pay it off."

"And you never think to keep the money for things we might need? Shoes and food and basic necessities? Edmund is getting older; he can't live off cards and dice forever. It isn't fair for him to have to carry all of the weight simply because you refuse to admit that gambling's more trouble than it's worth; or that you haven't the ability to win anything at all!"

I heard, from my soft mattress, a sharp, cutting noise from down that hall. I was up off my mattress and back into the sitting room in a second, enough time to see my parents standing across from each other; my mother with her hand on her cheek, which had begun to turn red.

"What?" my father said, noticing my presence and staring; he was more or less groaning from a headache, and sometimes I wish I had been louder in my response.

"You hit her," I said, dumbstruck, "You've never hit her before."

Where I lived, at that point, it was not all that uncommon to hear the aftereffects of a man hitting his wife, or even to see the silhouettes of the violence through curtains; but it used to be different at my house. Father was off-kilter that night in a way he had never been before.

Father stepped towards me, grabbed my wrist to forbid me from walking away from him, and whispered, "Do you have the slightest clue what's going on? All that we could lose if tonight comes back to get me?"

"You could lose your wife," I said, coolly, and watched my father as he begrudgingly climbed the latter to move into the loft, where he and Mother slept.

I was not the best son in the world, which was obvious; I simply was not sure how to console her. I put my hand on her shoulder, remaining silent. The last thing I wanted to do was speak, but, of course, Mother looked straight into my eyes. "Stay away from the taverns, Edmund. Promise me that you'll stay away; do not allow yourself to get pulled into gambling like your father. I never want to hear you've been gambling again."

I did not like the idea of that very much; in utter honesty, it made me feel a little sick, but not believing myself to be dependent on dice, I nodded and gave my word. As I, at the time, was not terribly fond of the games myself, I believed I could do it. I have never been more wrong in my life.

It took almost a month for what happened that night came back to terrorize us, and with three loud raps at the door. Mother stood and before her fingers even brushed the door, it slammed open, and with an over-determined air, sauntered in the Calormene with a large, brutish looking man, who was more likely than not, a Lone Island colonial; the stench made me want to double over in disgust.

The Calormene scrunched up his long nose, and said, "I believe you owe me some money."

He then went on with all of the calculations, which I am sure he altered to fit his own ends, telling us what we owed; this was over our weight in gold, more than all of our property, more than anything we could possibly give. "Of course," the Calormene said, "it appears as though you would not be able to comply to my demands. I want my money."

"I am sure," Mother said, half glaring at my father the whole time, "Tarkaan, sir, that we'll work to pay you back as soon as we can; but you'll have to be patient, we haven't the money to pay you at this time, couldn't we arrange a sort of plan to pay you back?"

"No!" the Calormene said, going even as far as to stamp his foot, however, the brutish man nodded at Mother and spoke.

"Now there's a good gel. As I have been telling Tarkaan Rabadash since he first told me about this, there is a greater way to get what he deserves. Here is what we decided," his slimy voice covered the room, "we give you half a year to give Tarkaan Rabadash the money he demands—plus ten bronze coins interest for every two weeks. By the end of this time, if you don't have the money, you give all of these," he paused, as though thinking of the right word, "possessions, added to some…human resources."

Suddenly, the father I had known for most of my life came through, standing up and putting an arm around my mother, He said, his voice stone cold, "We won't have to resort to that, sir. We will have it paid by the end of the six months."

I hadn't the slightest idea how we would pay it, but it was not the best time to bring it up. Tarkaan Rabadash, as that seemed to be the Calormene's name, continued to pout, raving that he wanted the money immediately, until I had to show them both out.

The second both men were gone, I turned to my parents. "How in the world are we going to pay them back double our weight in gold?"

Mother and Father exchanged worried glances, seeming to communicate through their eyes. They always seemed to have a language through their eyes, perhaps this was something else that helped keep them married, or perhaps I just imagined the whole thing.

"We'll need some time to think it over," Father said, "We'll tell you when we come up with something for sure."

I wanted to help them make the decision, but the option remained closed to me; perhaps if I would have had the chance, I could have had a say in the matter, and might have been able to change the way the dice fell. Then again, dice will choose to fall whatever way it wants.

I had thought, on my own, that perhaps I could go back to the tavern and win back all of the money that Father lost, but I knew it would have been no use. I never took chances that big, never put that much in the middle of the table; not to mention if Lady Luck left me, just for one game, we would be even worse off than we were at that moment.

Several weeks passed, the snow slowly started to melt, and although it still covered the ground in blankets; the air became warmer by a long shot. I kept the silver knave up my sleeve at all times. I sat on my mattress, a deck of playing cards in my palm.

I felt as though I could, possibly, relate to the extra knave; being stuck inside a deck of cards where, you know that you look as though you fit, and well, perhaps you even do belong, in your own way, but in the end, you belong to a separate deck. I pulled the knave out of my sleeve and shuffled the deck. Not having the slightest idea what to do next, I put it into the middle of the deck. It landed, even though I hadn't an inkling at the time, between the Queens of Hearts and Diamonds; it's rather queer, how that worked out.

"Edmund; come out here!" Mother called; her voice sincere.

I was up and in the sitting room in next to a second. "What's up?" I asked, "Did you find out how we're going to pay it off?"

Mother nodded, and said, "Do you recall, back when we lived with your cousin in Beaversdam, the Featherstones?"

I thought through the past; I remembered living with my aunt and uncle for a few years until Mother managed to save enough money around Father's gambling to buy a house. Back then, when living with my aunt and uncle, we were technically fairly well off, and would on occasion be invited to galas hosted by the Featherstone family; an extremely wealthy family, who lived just on the outskirts of the city; they were, possibly, the best well off family on that side of the Great River.

"Yes," I said. "What about them?"

"And you remember their daughter, Anne?" Mother winced.

"Yes," I said slowly. If I remembered correctly, Anne pushed me into their exclusive lake in the grounds behind their mansion. I seemed to remember that she was always speaking of all of their things, how the Featherstones were so far better off than the rest of her guests, and how she would surely end up married to Peter Wolfsbane, evidentially the most handsome boy in Beaversdam. She expected me to care about that. The funny thing about it is that Peter often ran away from Anne, and tended to prefer to spend his time, when with a girl, with my cousin, Susan.

"Well, we—your father and I," Mother said, "weighed the options, and the only way we can get the money that your father owes, is with your help. We'll be working, and selling everything we can, but, added to you getting a job in the city—"

Father interrupted, and so quickly, it was hard to decipher the words: "We need you to go to Beaversdam and try to marry Anne."

I blinked. "What? I understood everything up until my getting a job in the city, and then I misheard you. I thought you said I'd have to try and marry someone."

Father just nodded slowly, "You heard correctly. We need this of you. Anne Featherstone comes from a very rich family, it's the only way that we can keep anything at all; including ourselves." I wanted to protest, but it seemed as though Father read my mind because he said, "Recall that our freedom, and everything in the world, that we are, is on the line."

"But," I protested, not going down without a fight, "slavery is illegal in Narnia! They can't do that, can they?"

Mother closed her eyes and sighed, but let Father take over the talking, "If they take us to Calormen, we couldn't do anything about it and besides that; you were gambling as well, it is illegal for those to gamble under eighteen."

Suddenly the realization to this law, one I had never heeded, hit me like a sucker punch to the stomach. The sick irony of this fact was that, in Narnia, people my age; sixteen, could consume as much liquor as they could rightly stomach, and I had never so much as taken a sip of even watered-down beer.

I put my lips together. If Anne had grown up in the passed six years, she might not make a bad wife. It was not as though I knew very many girls personally, so I wasn't quite missing out on anyone. All of these aside, my parents needed me to do this. It would not be fair to make Mother suffer for the rest of her life simply because my father made the gambling mistake of a lifetime; and even with him, I didn't think he deserved the degree of punishment that was going to be put on him. With these in mind, I nodded. At the time, I did not understand exactly what I was signing up for. I did not realize that this was a campaign for the rest of my life. The way I saw it back then was that it could be a sort of game, like trying to get a flush. My newest goal, I decided then, was the Queen of Diamonds. "All right," I said, "I'll try."

In the next week, Mother wrote a letter to Susan, the only member of my family still in Beaversdam, asking that she allow me to live with her, and explaining the situation in pure logic, the language Susan spoke fluently. I, then, straddled a horse, and moved westward, all the way to Beaversdam in one day, with the Knave of Spades up my sleeve and a pair of loaded dice in my pocket, wishing all the while that I would be able to choose the way my fate fell; just like I could with the dice.

**A/N: So…what do you think? What could I have done better? What are the weak aspects of this chapter? Please tell me in the form of a review. **


	2. Beaversdam

When I arrived in Beaversdam, the first thing I wanted to do was collapse on a comfortable mattress after gulping down several pints of water. Of course, as life would have it, several things interfered with that; most of it was that I had no clue where Susan lived those days. Technically speaking, all of it was that I had no clue where Susan lived, but that is all in the details. I spent the first few hours meandering in through professional-looking businesses, inquiring about Susan Martin; enough people knew who she was, but it seemed like there was not a soul in the city who could give me directions to her house. (To be honest, I doubted that no one knew the way to her house, but they probably simply did not want to give her address to a perfect stranger.)

Most of the day, I wasted on this; I walked through the streets, asking people if they knew Susan and where to find her, and, at the last second, ended up slighted. Sometimes, when I was younger, I heard stories of what Narnia used to be like, back in the days of old when most of the Narnians were beasts, dryads, fauns, satyrs, centaurs, Minotaurs, and humans were rare things. Back then, I think, people would have been much more cordial with each other. Human nature can be a tricky and somewhat disgusting thing, and it is hard to master, but with the right trick of fate, you can make it work. Some people do, others do not. I don't think humans were supposed to be in this world at all, other than the original King Frank and Queen Helen. Somehow, the human race invaded into the world, or so myths say, and now there are humans everywhere. I'm not sure about much of this, having been schooled by Mother at home all my life, and I believe even less of it.

I walked in through the streets, trying to ignore the families begging or looking through trash heaps and gutters. Narnia wasn't, by any means, a deprived country, but the days of fairytales had long since passed. Of course, there would be people without homes; there would be crimes, alcoholics, and all of the things people find in other countries, although I liked to think that it was lesser in Narnia than in Calormen. In Narnia, nearly all of the government is run through ideas from the Deep Magic, or whosever's definition of the old language that it has been rumored to be written in. So few people understood it, Old Narnian. The common language in those days was English with a mixture of New Narnian put in; sometimes Mother would call the language New, New Narnian. I haven't any arguments with the Deep Magic; according to religion, it has a rather large part in my being here and all that, but sometimes, I just have the feeling, that little quirks in it seem a bit excessive. For example, the idea of any traitor being given to the Witch who was rumored to live somewhere north—most myths say in Charn itself, rumored to be located in a higher north even than the Wild Lands up there; it was cold as hell, as many said seemed somewhat unnecessary. After all, even a traitor can mend; am I wrong?

Eventually, I slipped into a little general store, and immediately knew that luck had decided to pay me a visit. Behind the counter was none other than Peter Wolfsbane, an old friend of mine, and more importantly, a little more than friends with Susan, or at least he used to be; I was betting that he would know where she lived.

"I don't suppose you remember me," I said after a moment of recognition.

Peter's face, which seemed quite sharper and more masculine than when he was twelve, cracked into a broad smile. "If it isn't Edmund Martin! What brings you to Beaversdam?"

Because it was a rather private reason, Susan was the only person I planned to tell any of this to, I had to quickly concoct a lie. "Just planning to visit my cousin. You wouldn't happen to know where she lives, would you?"

"Some things never change, eh, Edmund?" Peter shook his head, lifting a box onto a latter and putting jars of jams, flours, and other kitchen supplies and rations onto a high shelf. "Yes, I know. I would take you there if I could get away from the shop, but we're a bit shorthanded these days."

I found myself smiling at the prospects, so far, it really seemed as though Lady Luck was going to stick by me; I had to get a job, didn't I? I felt the Knave of Spades in my sleeve, and thought of the loaded dice in my pocket; so far, it was going rather well. "Do you think I could get a job here?"

"I thought you were only visiting?" Peter asked, wrinkling his brow, and filling a jar with my favorite powdery white candy, Turkish delight, "Why would you want to get a job?"

I cursed inwardly, and thought fast. "Strictly speaking, I'm planning on making it as permanent of a visit as I can. Father and I had, erm, a falling out."

I couldn't help but wonder inwardly what I had just said, I had lied about not getting along with my father anymore, but he was the entire reason I was even here in the first place, well, him and Mother. Queer, how things work out like that.

"Ah, I see." Peter said, climbing down from the latter. He scribbled on a piece of brown packaging. "Here's her address. She lives on the second floor."

I blinked at his second floor remark, but guessed that Susan probably took a roommate, or was taken in. This somewhat concerned me, for if she had dropped class, maybe she wouldn't be able to get me into the Featherstone house. I silently calmed myself, figuring that I had luck on my side so far, perhaps it would go as far as the rest of this journey. Besides, what fun is gambling without something on the line? If you do not bet anything, if there's not chance, there's no high, and, therefore, no reward.

"As for a job," Peter said, "I'll talk to the owner about it, chances are, he'll say yes, but come again tomorrow, all right?"

I nodded, and said goodbye; following the instructions Peter gave me, all the way to Susan's house.

As it turned out, she lived in a rather nicely sized, middle-class looking house. When she answered the door, she took me up to her quarters, on the second floor, just as Peter said. It was clean, naturally for Susan, with a bookshelf half empty (or half full, depending on your view of things), a rather large mirror in the hall, and nicely seated sofas and chairs.

Susan told me to sit down on one of the sofas, and asked if I'd like anything. Truth be told, I was cold and hungry from my long journey, but as I did not want to appear too demanding, I shook my head.

"All right," she said. "I haven't seen you in years, Edmund. How have you been?"

It was then that all my memories of Susan came back strongly. Added to being what most men would consider fairytale beautiful (since she's my cousin, all I'll admit is that she is pretty), she was also very polite, concerned with society, and overly logical. Living with her had its potential to be fun; my more childish side smirked at the idea. I answered her question while analyzing all of this. "That's actually has a lot to do with why I'm here," I said, handing her the letter Mother wrote.

Susan read it, and let her mouth drop open midway through. Finally, she let it flop down into her lap, "Are you doing it?"

I nodded, "Mother explains it in the letter, I think. We need the money. I have six…actually, it's more like five, months to court and marry Anne Featherstone to sort out my Father's debt." I said this, simply to remind myself, it still was not quite real to me yet, and it was still just all talk. I was certain that, once I entered into this task personally, it would seem more real. For better or for worse. Even if I did not realize this, everything was uncertain.

"Do you remember her, Anne, at all?" Susan said, "You hated her when you lived here. I mean, yes, six years is a long time for people to change, and I can see how you're optimistic, but I don't think you'll be very pleased when you find out how little a person can change in six years."

I shrugged, "I have to try. I'm not giving my family up to slavery in Calormen so easily."

Susan had her arms crossed at her chest, "Yes, I realize that but—"

"Then help me." I insisted, "Please. I need your help, Su."

"What's going to happen if Anne wants noting to do with you, I wouldn't be surprised." Susan seemed only partially frustrated, the other part of her trying to think of all the options.

I sighed, wholly frustrated. "In that case, I have to win everything Father lost back in the taverns. And then, I'd have a chance of getting us into even more trouble."

To be entirely honest, the idea of going to the taverns and trying to win everything back looked better by the second. Dice were more cordial than girls were. However, not only had I promised my mother that I would stay away, but the chances of my winning back all of that were slim. I knew the rules to the game, and I knew that as the stakes were higher, the more nervous one gets, and then the more chance to slip up comes into play. Then skill leaves, and it's simply up to luck. A place I was comfortable with, however, when all was on the line that was at the time, it was best to not try in the first place.

Susan saw the odds that I was at, and at last, nodded. "All right, I'll help you as much as I can. I'm not exactly very friendly with Anne, but it's rather odd how you just came in now. Earlier today, Mrs. Featherstone invited me to tea for tomorrow—oh, she's actually a very social and cheerful woman, no matter how her daughter might act. When I go, I'll drop hints and things like that. I can't believe I'm helping you, you know that?"

I smiled at her. "I must be your favorite cousin," I said jokingly.

"You're my _only_ cousin," Susan shook her head a bit, rolling her eyes; but somehow I guessed that she wasn't quite irritated.

"Shouldn't I," I looked at my cousin, who had her eyebrow cocked, "oh, I don't know, meet her again before you drop hints or anything?"

Susan shook her head, "No. Not at all. With Anne, it's best to tell her that people like her before she has a chance to look at them and obsess with their flaws."

"Brilliant." I muttered quickly, wondering, for the first time, really, what exactly my parents had me signed up for.

Susan took me, then, to a little room down the hall; it was rather small, and the bed took up a majority of it, both by its length and by width. The room was mostly bland; the bed, a chest, and a clock shoved into a corner made up the contents of this room. Susan opened up the chest against the wall on the left-hand side, "Here," she said, "you can keep your clothes in here."

"Thank you," I said, quite liking the room, to be honest. It might have been small and rather bland, but I could change that with a rug and a little table with cards on the surface.

Susan nodded, "Well, then, I'll let you settle in. My room is across the hall and the first door on the left if you need me, or I could be downstairs."

I shuffled out of my boots and laid down on the bedspread, with my arms back behind my head, giving it support, thinking all the while how rather spectacular that day had gone. I had a possible job, if the owner of the shop was interested, I would find out the next day; Susan was going to talk to Anne for me, I didn't know how much good it would do, but at least she would know that I'm in the city and interested in her. Most of my progress, I noted, was other people doing things, but I had the feeling that it would be my turn to roll the dice, to shuffle the cards, sooner than it seemed.

I reached into my sleeves and pulled out the Knave of Spades and the loaded dice I had been keeping, from my bag, I grabbed a separate deck of cards. Laying them out on the table, I looked through the cards. First, I grabbed the King of Hearts, thinking of Peter, and laid that down several inches away from my Knave of Spades. Then, I found the Queen of Spades, thinking of Susan, and put that one a little closer to my Knave than the King was, but still far away. Lastly, I grabbed the Queen of Diamonds, and I placed her on the other side of my Knave, slightly overlapping at the corner.

I looked at the Queen of Diamonds, and while my eyes were occupied, my mind raced to try and think of every possible outcome and story that might happen while I was trying to court Anne. I knew that it would take effort and a lot of luck, but I could make it through. I always had been able to, hadn't I?

XXXXXX

For someone who had not had a full day of real work in his life, I adapted to working in the shop rather quickly, on the first day, at least. The store was never incredibly busy, but consistent; it seemed as though there was always a few people stopping in. It, somewhat, surprised me that in a big city like Beaversdam, that people would stop by in the general stores as much as they seemed to. Apparently, wealthy people send their servants here, and middle-class people come here anyway for most of their needs. I couldn't even begin to imagine why, exactly, this little store was so popular, but it worked, considering that I needed money. I worked behind the counter with Peter, on a trail basis, considering my lack of past job. I scrubbed the counters, put away various items in boxes, and tried as hard as I could not to eat any of the Turkish delight in the jars. Honestly, I'll admit to having taken a piece or two when the shop was empty of customers and Peter was in the back, but I did slip the coins I needed to pay into the cashbox). Unfortunately, I found myself caught, on perhaps, my third time trying to do this.

I had just stuffed the sweet, powdery candy into my mouth as Peter walked in. I swallowed quickly, but not quick enough. Peter raised an eyebrow and pointed towards his lip, "You're supposed to sell the candy, not eat it."

I wiped off my mouth, noticing some white powder come onto my dark sleeve, "I'm paying for it," I mumbled, putting a copper coin into the cashbox.

Peter rolled his eyes, "You're lucky you work for Mr. Kirke; a piece of candy or two doesn't mean much to him, but anyone else would probably relieve you from duty," and with that, he closed the lid to the candy jar and walked away.

Little did he know, however, that that was my fifth or sixth piece of Turkish delight, and I was beginning to feel sick.

The friendship I had once had with Peter was renewed in working with him, although in a different way. Ten and thirteen are very different ages than sixteen and nineteen. For the first time in a long time, I realized that I had a friend. A living, breathing friend, whose main motive was not to win as much money as possible from me in the night.

A few hours passed, it was almost dusk; I felt more than a little nauseous, and I was ready to retire to my little room in Susan's house, shuffle the cards in my deck, and figure out a way to better my situation; figure out a way to get a flush into my hand.

A little faun woman entered the shop and came up to the desk. I hadn't serviced a single customer all day, leaving that to Peter, but as he was in the back, I had no choice. "Yes?" I asked.

"Hullo," she said. "I would like a bag of flour and some tea, please."

I nodded and went onto the ladder to reach the bags of items she asked for, and the little faun woman started chattering. I really didn't hear any of it, but waited until she ceased talking to tell her the price she owed to the store.

She handed me the money and said, "You know, besides being human and all, you remind me a little of my late husband. I think it's your face. He used to always—always come shopping with me."

"I'm sorry," I said, I'm not sure, however, if I really was sorry or not. I doubt it, I did not know her at all, perhaps I thought it was a shame that she missed her husband, but there wasn't much else I could say about my feelings. "You must miss him."

"Why would I miss him?" she piped. "I'll see him when I get home."

"I thought you said he was your _late _husband?" I asked, blinking, at the oddity.

"I did," said the faun lady, "he's late for everything."

I nodded, rather confused, curious as to her mental stability, but then I became distracted by the three girls coming through the door. One had long black hair and very familiar, the other two were blondes, and one was faintly familiar, although I could not tell you, at the time, who she was, the last a complete stranger

The first girl was Susan, obviously. The second looked about my age, with sandy blonde curls down her back and a pretty, slender face to her, but a look on that same face that made her look as though she just smelled something funny. The last had white-blonde hair and a timid look to her.

The faun woman made her exit, and I directed my attention to the girls. "May I help you ladies?" I asked; a question that worked to change my life.

Susan gestured to both blonde girls beside her, the shy looking one first, "Edmund, this is Marjorie Preston," and then she gestured to the haughty looking one, and said in a tone that clearly indicated the reason they were in the shop in the first place, "and this is Anne Featherstone."

**A/N: Okay, the whole 'late husband' thing was going to be cut, but, well, it made me giggle, so I kept it…sorry. **


	3. Loaded Dice

I blinked. I was staring directly at what could very well be the winnings up my sleeve, the Queen of Diamonds was my way to keep my family safe, and the idea made my throat dry out, and all the sugar I previously consumed head straight to my blood, making my fingers twitch.

"Oh," I said, somewhat dumbstruck. Susan brought them to the shop, while I was working and with everything I ate that day threatening to come out through my mouth. I made a mental note to yell at her later, but kept everything in. As of right then, I was walking on broken glass. First impressions are important; that is what used to give me the gambling advantage back when I was eleven; no one suspected that I would have skills. "What a surprise."

"Yes, well, Susan told us you were in the city," Anne said, I could not read her expression, but it seemed borderline annoyed and partially interested. I wondered what Susan told her about me. "And Mother suggested that we come over here and invite you to a bit of a party at the end of the week. It would, primarily, be a dance, you do dance, don't you?"

The real answer to that question was 'not if I can help it.' However, no matter how very much I wanted to come back with a nicely laid sarcastic remark, I knew that I could not, so I bit my tongue. I had to mould myself into the sort of man that Anne wanted; that should have been clear since the beginning. I could not be Edmund Martin; I had to become Edmund Martin, the wide-eyed, complimentary, sort of chap who would get his head knocked in if he took a step into the taverns. "When I can," I said, in a voice that sounded too buttery to come from my vocal chords. "But, erm, do you think I could call on you before then?"

"Tomorrow then. I trust you remember where I live." Anne sighed, "Come around noon. You have something better to wear, don't you?"

Once again I kept down a sarcastic remark. Keeping my teeth as close together as I could without making it obvious, I said, "I'll find something nicer than my work clothes."

"I'll hope so."

The shy-looking girl by the name of Marjorie Preston stepped upward and said, "Anne, it's getting late, shouldn't we be heading back now?"

Anne rolled her eyes, "I swear it, Marjorie. Sometimes you're _such_ a little girl. You must stop talking with Lucy so often, it's almost as though you're becoming her, you know."

I noticed Marjorie sink into herself a little, and she said, awkwardly and with a voice that was obviously lying, "Am not. Don't know what you mean, at all."

Anne ticked her head towards the fair blonde stammering with raised brows, and said, "Oh, yes you do. But, if you're so afraid of the streets at night, we might as well take our leave. Susan, are you coming along?"

Susan gestured the girls out the door, "No, the shop should be closing soon, I'll just walk back home with Edmund."

The other girls nodded and stepped out of the doors, hitting the little silver bell on the way out. As soon as they were out of earshot, Susan turned to me. "You're going to have to do much better than that," she said.

"Much better?" I echoed. "What am I supposed to do? Put her up on a pedestal and constantly grovel and swoon over everything she says and does?"

"Exactly," Susan said, hands crossed at her chest. "The word 'subtle' isn't in her vocabulary, and the more you glorify her, the more she'll like you. She already knows that you're interested—I took care of that, all you have to do is be a mindless, spineless, swooning, love-struck moron, and she'll love you."

I learned in over the counter, saying, "This is going to be painful, isn't it?"

"I have a feeling," Susan's voice was gentle, and yet, had a nagging sort of 'you're bringing this onto yourself' air to it. "I'll help you where I can, though."

Just then, Peter came back from the storeroom, "It's about time to close for the night, Edmund. Because it's your first day, I'll close up; you can go now. Tomorrow we'll have you close up."

"About tomorrow," I said, "I'll need a few hours off, around noon."

Peter blinked. "Tomorrow's your second day."

"I know," I said, "but, believe me, I really need to take it."

Susan cut in here, "He does, Peter. I'll vouch for him; it's important."

Peter raised his brow at my cousin, "How important?" he asked, I guessed that he was inwardly cursing.

Susan and I went into mutterings and ramblings about this and that reason that I'd have to miss work in such ways that, quite possibly, there was no way we could be understood.

"All right, all right," Peter said, grabbing a broom from the corner, "I'll work on my own tomorrow, but you have to lock up while I sit around and eat Turkish delight."

My diaphragm lurched, and I grabbed my stomach, "Oh, never say 'Turkish delight' again."

"Thank you, Peter," Susan said, and just then, I realized how awkward the two were being around each other; they were never this awkward around each other before, six years ago they were closer than any two people of the opposite sex could be at their age. I was beginning to get the idea of how much things change over six years.

When Susan and I reached the house, we had to be very quiet, as whoever lived downstairs was asleep. I considered asking about who lived there, but I was a bit too tired to do anything of the sort. In reality, working all day, and not getting even the smallest moment spend alone is rather tiring. All I wanted to do was curl up on my new bed and fall asleep. Susan, however, was rather hell-bent on making sure that I had something suitable to wear to the Featherstones' the next day. I let her fumble around in wardrobes while I dozed in chairs, she knew this sort of thing better than I did.

"So, what was going on with you and Peter earlier?" I asked, sinking further into the back of the chair.

"What do you mean?" Susan's voice called from inside a wardrobe in a spare room. "It's so big in here; and what's going on with all these fur coats?"

"I meant what I said," I shrugged, "You two don't seem to get along very well anymore."

Susan's voice carried with quite a bit of zeal, "A lot can change in six years, Edmund. People change. Situations change. People blow them out of proportion. People decide to be jealous idiots."

"So, things are just fine between you two?" I decided to play stupid; when girls know that you understand, or even have an idea of what they are talking about, chances are they will want to talk with you. This was something I did not necessarily want to do.

"Here, this is all I have." Susan said, tossing me a black and white doublet and loose breeches along with some nicer boots.

I nodded, and was about to take the clothes into my room, when I thought struck me, "Erm, Su? How is it that you have these clothes in your house?"

Susan, turning a little pink, muttered under her breath, "Don't ask, don't tell."

I shook it off and took the clothing down the hall and into my tiny room; I collapsed onto the soft mattress and fell asleep instantly. While I was asleep, I had a dream that I was sitting in a loud, smoky tavern.

"Pick your move, boy, do you fold?" I heard the slippery voice of Tarkaan Rabadash from across the table, although the room as too murky to see his face. However, as one tends to have more knowledge in dreams than they do in reality, I knew it was him.

I looked at the cards in my hand. Instead of the typical black and red cards staring at me, silver and gold blinked back. In this hand, I had the queerest arrangement, the Knave of Spades, the Queen of Hearts, the Queen of Diamonds, and the Diamond's Ace. Before I had the chance to blink, the image within the cards changed. Looking into the Knave of Spades was like looking at a painting of me, an exact replica, even down to the clothes I had worn earlier that day. The Queen of Diamonds was like a still portrait of Anne, holding a flower that I had since learned is called love-lies-bleeding with a sour expression on her face. The Diamond's Ace grew a face, a long dark face with a turban on top: Tarkaan Rabadash. The Queen of Hearts, however, was the queerest part, as the inked in image faded nothing replaced her. There was a simple white space instead of a girl's face. Somehow, however, I did not want to discard this. Actually, I couldn't discard any of them. It was as though they were made in this order, and I could not as much as shuffle them in my hands.

XXXXXXXXX

The Featherstone's house was possibly the biggest I have ever seen, more like a palace than any sort of private residence was. In my head, I had not even imagined Cair Paravel to be this enormous. I counted up to fourteen floors, and I supposed that the servants have to live on the thirteenth floor, in light of superstitions. The estate was just as long as it was tall. Made entirely of stone and brick, it loomed over the sky, and covered a large portion of the cloudy sky. Not only was the building enormous, but they had grounds as well. I supposed it ran a mile in every direction, tall metal fences with golden Lion emblems over the gate. Impressing Anne would be harder than I thought. I supposed I would just have to take Susan's advice, take away from my personality, and just compliment the girl as though she were an idol.

If that was what the outside looked like, I must have been gawking like an idiot when I entered the building, directed by a faun servant. At least I would not have to fake being impressed by this house, shining pillars, the finest rugs, if you could imagine it in this grand house, it would be there, in such a flattering way that it almost seemed unreal.

As I was led into the main sitting room to wait for the Featherstones, I realized that something was wrong. My sleeve was far too light, I checked the moment the faun left me alone; and I found that my dice were gone. It would not be that big of a deal, if the pair weren't loaded. They were rather on the expensive and dangerous side. It was best to keep them with me at all times.

I quickly judged the size of the house, guessed the amount of time it would take the Featherstones to actually get to the sitting room, and decided to go and look for it, just as far as the main foyer; I thought I heard something hit the floor while walking through that area. Speedily, I left the room, and came around the corner to see a girl crouching in the far side of the foyer, lifting my dice and dropping it onto the floor. Although her face was pointed towards the ground, I could see a perplexed expression etched onto her features. She was, maybe, a year younger than me, two at most, with brown hair braided in plaits and big blue eyes looking, at a moment after my entrance, directly into mine.

"Are these yours?" she asked, standing up, "They only ever land on seven."

I made my face fall and quickly as anything lied, "He gave me _loaded dice_? The idiot! I can't use these now!"

I must have overplayed this because the girl got a queer expression on her face, to replace the perplexed one, and asked, "Why are you talking so loudly?"

"Sorry," I muttered, "I've just always wanted to get really dramatic about that."

The girl giggled lightly, and said, holding out her hand, "I'm Lucy Pevensie."

I remembered that Anne had mentioned a girl named Lucy when talking to Marjorie. She did not have anything nice to say about her at the time, but as of right then, I could not find anything I disliked about Lucy, in fact, I liked her quite a bit. Eyeing her outstretched hand, I took and kissed it; it was a bit awkward, but I hadn't the slightest idea of what else to do, and besides it gave me practice on being flattering towards girls.

Lucy turned somewhat pink, "I thought you were going to shake it."

I cocked my eyebrow from the oddity. "Why would I do that?"

"Sorry," she said, "I forget that people don't shake hands in Narnia like we do in Archenland."

"You're from Archenland?" I asked, she could have fooled me; she did not have even the slightest accent.

Lucy shrugged, "Well, Ettinsmoor, originally. But I've moved around quite a bit. I like Narnia the best, though, I'd like to say here." I could tell it seemed to be a sensitive subject for the girl, so I dropped it.

"So," she said, "why do you have dice that only ever lands on seven?"

Winking at her, I said, "It's lucky for me."

"What do they have to do with each other?" Lucy blinked.

It was my turn to blink. "You really don't know?" Was she playing me for a fool? I looked her over; she was thin, not very beautiful, but somewhat pretty. She did not look like someone you would notice off the street, but it was like drawing a card out of the center deck, it might not help your suit, but you just get the unexplainable feeling that you should keep it. There was something about her that made me feel as though Lady Luck was going to pay me a visit again very soon, and my diaphragm began to jitter and shake. Without my conscious decision, all of a sudden, Lucy appeared in my head as the Queen of Hearts.

"No," she shrugged, "Are you all right? You look nervous."

To change the subject, I asked, "Are you a friend of the Featherstones?"

All too soon, Lucy shook her head, "No. I'm Anne's maid. And you?"

I just realized that she did not even know my name, my ears turned red, although I couldn't tell you why, "I'm Martin—no, I mean, Edmund! My name's Edmund Martin."

Lucy's eyebrows shot up, "Oh! You're Edmund Martin. I'm sorry…I didn't know."

"Why are you apologizing?" I asked, dumbstruck.

"You just seem…different, than Anne's other suitors…then again, she likes you." Lucy shrugged, and just then, I noticed the basket of laundry behind her as she picked it up.

"Does she? And here I thought I made a bad first impression." I mumbled, taking in the rather good news.

Lucy shook her head; "Susan made the first impression for you. She just thinks you were nervous at the shop or something like that. It's been a long day, and she was going on about it while I was helping her dress, so I'm not sure about the specifics."

"Well, thank you anyway, Lucy." I said, holding out my own hand. "I think I should go and wait for the Featherstones in the sitting room, though. I'll see you again?" I hadn't the slightest clue as to why I wanted to see her again, but I did.

"Of course," she said, taking my hand, and then laughing again, in a non-judgmental way, as a shook her hand back and forth. "Good-bye, Edmund Martin."

We went our separate ways, and I was already sitting in a comfortable chair when I realized something; Lucy still had my dice.

As Susan had previously told me, Mrs. Featherstone was a very social and cheerful person. She inquired about my reasons in Beaversdam (I lied, of course, not even getting as personal as I got with Peter), and kept easy conversation going. She talked about parties and such, and listened quite a bit as well. However, something about her made me a little uneasy; perhaps I was simply unused to adult women being so talkative? Whatever it was, I was left feeling odd. Nonetheless, I could not let it bother me. Anne kept on making bored faces over her mother's shoulder, and I smiled at her and sent her looks which, I hoped, hinted that I could be thinking about her over her mother's chatter.

These looks seemed to work; Anne seemed to get something of a charge out of my attention to her, although I presumed she was like that to any attention, even though I was not really thinking of her. Instead of thinking of Anne, a rather private embarrassment, when I accidentally kissed the hand of a maid originally from Ettinsmoor and more recently from Archenland came into my head.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

When I arrived back at the house, after working for a few hours at the store with Peter, Susan was waiting for me. "I heard you met Lucy Pevensie," she said.

"Oh, hello, Susan. How was my day? It was fine, thank you." I was in a bit of an off mood, as some dryad had a large order of soil imported from the Lone Islands which felt as though it weighed more than an Elephant; in trying to lift it with Peter and even a centaur passerby, I almost threw out my back. "How did you hear that I met Lucy? And why does it matter?"

"Never mind how I heard," Susan shook it off, "What do you think of her? Lucy, I mean."

I shrugged, "She's nice, I suppose. I like her enough."

I couldn't help but wonder why Susan was inquiring about my accidental meeting, when the thing that really mattered was how I was getting on with Anne.

"No," Susan's voice said so quickly I barely heard.

"No what?" I asked, standing to go and make myself a cup of tea. My cousin followed at my heels. Brilliant, I thought.

"No. No, you do not think she's nice. No, you do not like her. If anyone were to ask you what you think of her, you would despise her." Susan leaned in on the table.

Putting the tealeaves into the kettle, and lowering it over the embers of the dining area, I asked, "What are you on about?"

"Do you know the saying 'the friend of my enemy is my enemy'?" Susan raised a knowing eyebrow at me.

I turned away from the fire to face Susan, "Can't say I know that one."

"Look," Susan said, noticing that I was not getting her hints, "I know that Lucy's nice and good to have around and all that; actually, I like her much better than I like Anne, but Anne can't stand her. You're trying to marry Anne in five months, not get her to hate you. You can't have a friendship with Lucy and still get Anne—it just won't work that way."

**A/N: Okay…yeah. Susan gets to close the chapter again…originally, Peter was going to have this chat with Edmund, differently of course, but the same conversation overall, then I thought it would make more sense with Susan. Do you think that it was better having Susan have this conversation? Please review! **


	4. Discoveries

There were times when I would wonder very briefly on what happened between Peter and Susan, I would never focus on this for more than a minute at most, having many better things to do, but it seemed strange. They seemed to still have a sort of awkward relationship, and Susan would sometimes walk with me to work in the mornings, obviously looking for the excuse to speak with Peter, but there was certainly a history behind them, as to why things were as awkward and forced as they were. From what Susan said, my best guess was that they had been courting in the past, but something happened with someone else, and Peter 'decided to be a jealous idiot,' in Susan's words, and they broke it off. There might have been something else, but I just did not focus on it for long enough to tell; and it wasn't as though I really wanted to get in the middle of things, either. To be entirely honest, I only ever bothered to think about it when Susan was walking me to work at the shop, which she did occasionally. Sometimes, Susan walking with me would irritate me a little, but it did very nearly save me from messing everything up, far too early on.

We were almost at the shop, the sky was light gray, as the sun was beginning to rise, when a familiar scene arose in front of us; a dryad and a faun were on their heads into the dirty, city snow, griping about their cloaks. Then one threw a punch at another, and they began brawling around in the snow.

"Is this a tavern?" I asked, perhaps a bit too eager; I had momentarily forgotten about my promise to Mother, and having not played a game of cards in almost a full week; ever since I left my own little town for Beaversdam, and up until then I had been too preoccupied to realize how much I wanted to feel that high that winning gave me again.

Susan lowered her brow at me, being family, she was well-aware of the addictions of the Jonathan Martin family, had always been, even prior to my current situation. She probably had a more realistic view of my own addiction than I did. "You have enough to do; you don't have time to gamble. Do I have to remind you that you only have five months to get _Anne Featherstone_ to marry you, and only one to pay everything back?"

"I know, I know." I mumbled, shrugging. "I just wanted to know."

Susan sent me a hard look, "You don't need to know."

Despite the look Susan had on her face, I worked as an idiot, and muttered, "Well, I think I'll go in. Just to see what they're like in the city and all." I went to go around Susan and enter the building, but she stopped me by forcing her hand at my stomach; she was stronger than I thought she was, and it nearly knocked the wind out of me.

"You need to get to work." She told me, "Let's go."

No matter how begrudgingly I did it, I slowly walked away from the tavern, even though I desperately wanted to step in. I must say that this situation poisoned my mind. All day, even as I worked, my mid was buzzing with the tantalizing idea of sitting in a smoky, room smelling the strong scent of liquor and tobacco, although taking one of it in my own system, with a fine hand of black and red staring back at me, having Lady Luck herself blow on my dice; ready to win all or lose all. Up until the, I hadn't realized how much I missed the high, the adrenaline rush games of chance gave me. I still didn't realize how much I needed it.

I must have been staring into space, only coming back to full consciousness of the situation when I felt a crate slip from my fingers, and the I snapped to attention; staring down at the situation from the top step of a ladder. Peter had dived to catch the crate, and thankfully hade it in his hands. "Wake up, Dolly Daydream!" he called to me, on the cusp of harsh and amused.

"Sorry, Peter," I mumbled, climbing down the ladder, and I went back into my somewhat surreal state, thinking about the games, until I heard the little bell above the door ring.

"Lu!" I heard Peter exclaim, and I turned to see none other than Lucy Pevensie walk into the shop. "What brings you to this part of the city?"

Lucy smiled, and sighed, "Anne sent me to get her dress for the ball tonight; I hope it fits her well this time. I don't want to be blamed for shrinking it again."

Peter shook his head; "I've never understood why she keeps you for her maid."

Shrugging, Lucy said, "I don't think her parents give her the choice anymore. I think I'm her fifth maid in two years."

"Yikes," I mumbled under my breath, although obviously a bit too loudly, because in a moment both Lucy and Peter had their eyes on me.

"Edmund!" Lucy exclaimed, straightening her back a bit, "I didn't…I didn't know you worked here."

"It's a bit of a new arrangement," I said. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Lucy had had a queer look on her face, some sort of crooked grin, she shook it off, "Oh, it's just that, you're so different than all of Anne's other suitors. Most of the men who show their interest in Anne are lazy, uninteresting, and only after her for the Featherstones' money."

"Yes, well, that's the way the dice falls then, isn't it?" my voice sounded inwardly. I fidgeted, perhaps too nervously, and worked to calm myself; never let one's tell show through; it's the worst weakness a gambler can have.

Lucy looked at her hands, and said, "But, I suppose you really do like her, then? You don't seem like the sort of person who would use people for their money."

I felt guilty, but calmed myself again. After all, the last thing I was being was selfish. I was doing everything for my parents. Everything was for Mother and Father, I reminded myself.

It was around this time that I noticed that Peter had slipped into the back, to get Anne's ball gown. Being left alone with a girl who was, almost, a complete stranger, but not quite, as I had the queerest feeling that we were nearly friends, I found myself getting fidgety. I had no idea if Lucy detected my awkward feeling, which should not have even been there, but she might have, as she directed the conversation towards the airiest small talk; for this, I was grateful.

"Are you going to the Featherstones' ball tonight?" Lucy asked me, once Peter had come out of the back room with a rather over-extravagant and lacey ball gown of a color that reminded me somewhat of a new bruise.

I nodded, "I suppose I'll see you there."

For what served to be, perhaps, my hundredth surprise that day, Lucy actually shook her head, "I don't really attend their balls and parties." Her tone didn't seem hesitant, bitter, relived or even sad. She spoke this as though it were a fact of her life, and one that she had never really mulled over before, nor ever truly cared about.

"You spending the evening in with your father and Gael, then?" Peter called from where he was standing, packaging up a brown parcel for a dryad who had entered. I hadn't even noticed that the bell above the door had rung.

Lucy nodded. "Yes, and if I can convince Father to play his violin, we can have our own party," she smiled, "If you would like to stop by, Peter, you're welcome to. Both of you are," she turned a bit pink at this, and I followed suit with Lucy's coloring, though once again, I could never tell you why.

Peter alleviated the atmosphere, after handing the parcel to the dryad woman and bidding her good day, by coming up to us and saying easily, "And, you Pevensies have a reason to be celebrating tonight, or so I hear?"

Lucy seemed to brighten quite a bit more, and she even went as far as to clap her hands, "Of course! We're all so excited. Father signed the papers this morning!"

"Does Gael have to wait until tonight to know that everything's official?" Peter arched his eyebrow, perhaps hinting something I didn't understand to Lucy. Well, obviously, it was something I didn't understand; I didn't even know who this Gael person was.

Nodding solemnly, Lucy mused, "Poor girl; I wish I didn't always have to leave her alone; but the Featherstones won't hire her, and Anne won't let me take her around. It's hard on all of us. But, you know? She tells me that she doesn't feel as alone as she used to; now that she feels like we're sisters."

"And now you actually are," Peter smiled, happy for the girl who, I had gathered the feeling, was a fond friend of his.

Peter and Lucy went on to talk about this a little while longer, and, admittedly, I felt put out; wanting to be included in this animated conversation with this friendly and rather attracting girl. It didn't take very long, however, for in a few moments, Lucy turned to me, "Do you have any brothers or sisters, Edmund?"

I shook my head. "The closest I have is Susan."

"I like Susan," Lucy thought aloud, "She used to always—oh! I'm sorry, Peter. I forgot." Her brow furrowed, and I couldn't help but think it was borderline endearing, if that would even be the appropriate word.

"Forgive and forget," Peter mumbled, shrugging, even though it obviously did not seem like he really wanted to shrug over it. "It's all right."

Reaching over the counter, Lucy squeezed one of Peter's hands, and in a low voice, she said, "It's never too late; Aslan willing."

A moment passed, this one in awkward silence, until Lucy realized what the time was, and excused herself from the shop. Once she was gone, I turned to my work-fellow. "What was all that about?" I asked.

"That?" Peter asked, a wry grin on his face, "That was a girl, and her name is Lucy. I thought you noticed."

I made a face. "I noticed that! I meant all of that about," I paused, as I was about to ask about his relationship with Susan; as it seemed more important, and more interesting, than the average couple cutting off their romantic ties. Instead, I muttered, "the Pevensies."

Peter handed me a large crate, and pointed up towards a high shelf, "You seem rather interested, having just met Lucy."

"Shut up," I said through a jaw that clenched on its own accord. "I just wanted to know what you to were going on about."

Peter nodded, although he didn't seem to believe me, and went on, "Well, I'm not sure how much you know about the Pevensies, but both of the girls—Lucy and Gael, were adopted; Gael was adopted just today, after living with them for three years…that would make her seven now, I think. Lucy's been a Pevensie since she was eight, so it would be six years now."

"Lucy was adopted." I said quietly, thinking more about it than I realized, "That explains all of the places she's lived."

Peter heard me, although I had been trying to keep quiet, "She told you about that?" his voice was somewhat dumbfounded, I found it interesting, but then he shook it off, "She must really like you."

"Shut up." I said again, rather not wanting to think about it.

As much as I didn't want to admit it, I found that I had a rather annoying interest in this girl; an interest I could not allow myself to have. I had to focus on Anne. It was focus on Anne, or give my parents up to slavery in Calormen. I made a pact with myself, immediately. The Knave of Spades was never to, under any circumstances, end up in the same hand as the Queen of Hearts.

Now that the temporary distraction was over, my head reeled back to my discovery of the tavern, and my want to step in. I had promised mother, and the idea of deliberately breaking this promise made me a little edgy, but the fact that there was a tavern, and a whole different crop of people who had not tried their hands against me, was even more enticing, nearly seducing, and I had to try it out, if only once.

Even though I had told myself over and over again that I would stop in that tavern on my way home that night, Susan seemed to have known that I would try it again, and came to walk me back. I hated having a chaperone, and one who was barely older than I, at that.

She came sauntering in, as though she owned the store, at the exact moment we were supposed to close. Most people weren't allowed in while we were sweeping and locking everything, but Susan seemed to think she had the right to. It was somewhat irritating, but later on, I realized that she had a far more realistic view on my situation than I did. These days I am grateful for her preventing me from going back to where I had begun, making it harder to get where I needed to; regardless of whether or not I truly wanted, or deserved, to be there.

If the Featherstones house was impressive on a normal basis, I think it takes little stretch of the imagination to guess what it looked like when they were trying to show off. While I stared at the shining walls and tapestries, wondering how much money I could win that night if I challenged everyone to poker; I admitted inwardly that I could have had a heyday in less than five games, as Susan chattered on my arm; reminding me how to act. I already knew everything she was saying; I resolved not to talk or dance with any female in the building whose surname wasn't Featherstone or Martin, even if Anne was dancing with someone else. I was to let Anne be in the limelight and do a good ninety-nine percent of the talking, and act the complete opposite way that I would on my own.

When I entered the ballroom, I was surprised to find a rather light and pleasant atmosphere; the room itself seemed to flow in the air. I deserted my cousin in attempt to find Anne, but instead found myself walking into Peter Wolfsbane.

"I didn't expect to see you in here," Peter said, a brow raised.

I blinked. "I said I was coming."

"I just thought you would go immediately to the Pevensies' cabin. I wanted to talk to a few people first, but I was expecting to find you there when I got there."

"I'm not going to the Pevensies' cabin," I said, perhaps more harshly than I intended. "What made you think I was?"

Peter blinked, and shrugged it off, swiftly changing the subject. I had a feeling that he thought the only reason I was there in the first place was Lucy, and I didn't understand why. I wasn't even supposed to be friends with her, as Susan's advice told me.

Peter's eyes went behind me in mid-sentence, and I swiveled to see whatever it was that he was staring at; Susan stood along the side of the ballroom, looking rather disgusted as a tall boy in spectacles chattered on and on to her. Peter seemed to halfway roll his eyes, and then took two glasses of wine off the table and walked over to Susan, with me behind him.

When I reached Susan, I realized why she looked so disgusted. The boy in spectacles was chattering nervously, "In one day, a human sheds ten billion skin flakes, and a faun actually sheds double that."

"I hate to interrupt," Peter cut-in, "but your sister is looking for you."

"My sister?" the boy in spectacles said, dumbfounded, "I didn't know she was here."

Nodding, Peter said, "I suppose she decided to come last minute. She's looking for you, though. Says it's urgent."

Once the boy ran away, in search of his sister who was not present, Peter handed the glass of wine to Susan who muttered her thanks clinking glasses with him.

Even though I was standing right beside Peter, I was, more or less, invisible to them. They stood around and sipped their wine, until a light waltz-like tune overtook the ballroom, and Peter suggested, "Do you want to dance?"

Susan cocked her eyebrow, and was suddenly rather uncomfortable. However, she nodded numbly, and muttered, "Just this once," and Peter led her into the center of the room.

It was not long until I found myself in the center myself, constantly complimenting Anne's dress and treating her as though she were the only girl in the room. This was quite a feat, considering she kept on asking about other people, evidentially enjoying gossip, or perhaps what she really enjoyed was knowing more about things than I did. However, I stuck to my duty and became the sort of boy she wanted to me to be.

However, after listening to Anne go off about how she thought Marjorie Preston's dress looked like seaweed sewn together (I thought Anne's looked like a trussed-up bruise; and thought that Marjorie looked rather nice, but of course, had to bite my tongue) I had to say something. "You know, I think the song is going to end soon, and I'd rather not listen about all of these other girls, why don't we just enjoy the dance? Or, you could tell me what there is to do in this town?" I was inwardly pleading for the former, despite my dislike for dancing.

"There isn't anything to do here, really." Anne rolled her eyes, "We have 'The Dam' but that's all for entertainment—aside from our balls, of course."

"The Dam?" I asked, feeling somewhat stupid, hoping that Anne wouldn't hold this against me.

"The theater," she clarified, and I couldn't tell if she thought I was stupid or not for not knowing, "Their newest show 'Helen and Frank' was just awful, hardly anything to even bother to see, but 'Swanwhite' was rather good."

I hoped that she wouldn't drag me to the theater anytime soon, I never really had the head for it. My family's source of entertainment had made me more of a hands-on sort of fellow, but, then again, that was the real Edmund Martin, not the Edmund Martin I was pretending to be.

Because I didn't want to say anything about my antipathy for the idea of going to the theater, I decided to jump on complimenting her, "I'm glad for that; I have more excuses to call on you."

I wanted to gag as the words escaped my throat. By the end of the first dance, I had had enough of the theatrics; and the night was nowhere near over; this whole situation was nowhere near over.

**A/N: Okay, so I've noticed that people have been adding this to their alerts and favorites, which I'm happy about, most definitely, but I would prefer it if you left a review. After all, I have no idea what it is that's making people like/dislike this story if all I ever get is emails saying that someone added this story to their favorites. Food for thought.**


	5. Broken Ribs

**A/N: If, by any chance, someone's reading this after the 'Voyage of the Dawn Treader' film comes out, allow me to apologize if I end up getting Gael completely out of character for this whole fic, I'm basically guessing for the entire thing…oh, and her scene in here is based on real life experiences. **

For the next few nights, I kept on having the queerest dreams. The feeling in my diaphragm when I awoke told me that they were probably nightmares, however, there was nothing in my living memory that could make me think this. I was always in a tavern, sitting along a circular table, a hand of cards in my palm, but for the life of me I could never figure out what game it was. I had six cards in my hand, and such a surprising hand I had too; the Knave of Spades, the Queen of Diamonds, Queen of Hearts, Queen of Spades, the King of Hearts, and the Queen of Clubs. What was equally surprising, but less so since my first dream, were the familiar faces staring back up at me from the cards. The Queen of Clubs, however, was empty, somewhat like the Queen of Diamonds was before I met Lucy.

The dream shifted little by little, I noticed, from memory and from the lifelikeness of these dreams that I could almost inhale the secondhand smoke, the scent reeking through and almost burning the back of my throat, the table transferred into a roulette table, and began to turn. I threw the familiar pair of dice suddenly in my hands as the cards vanished, and smiled when they, to no surprise, landed on seven.

In the center of the roulette table, Susan appeared spinning around twice, saying, "You don't have time to gamble."

As she turned around a third time, my cousin's girlish features were replaced by Peter's face, he spoke, "I didn't expect to see you in here."

When Peter turned around, his face morphed into Anne's, "There isn't anything to do here," she spoke in the same snobbish voice as always.

It was when Anne's face turned into Lucy's that I woke up, almost every time, only once was I sleeping long enough to hear her say, "You're different, Edmund."

Whenever I was awake, it seemed that I was working all the time. Besides having the true work of unloading, loading, and taking care of the counter at the shop, I was beginning to view seeing Anne was a job in itself. This job, admittedly, could be a bit amusing; Anne was not always as irritating as she came off in the first week. Actually, once she was under the impression that you thought she was the most attractive, fascinating person in the world, she could carry on rather entertaining conversation for the both of us, providing she was in the mood to. If she was not, however, forget it; you would not get a word in edgewise while she was griping. This is, really, what made it work. I could not, under any circumstances, speak without thinking, in case sarcasm or initial dislike for gossip, theater, or dancing came through.

One thing I noticed, was while I was at Anne's house, under strict chaperoning by her mother or else a responsible servant, was that Lucy was rarely ever around. This, honestly, surprised me, considering she was Anne's handmaid. I thought that handmaids were supposed to walk around with the person they were waiting on and do things for them. Evidentially, Anne kept Lucy so busy all the time, so that she rarely ever had to see her face.

The only time I could remember Lucy in the room while I was with Anne was a cold, blustery day I was having tea with Mrs. Featherstone and Anne. I had yet to meet Mr. Featherstone, but I presumed that that was a meeting reserved for when things got more serious between Anne and me. A meeting that would mark my goal, and I knew I would be behind if I didn't get this meeting by spring.

Even though I inwardly complained about my own mannerisms when I was around Anne, as they were often so out of character that I was surprised I could snap back to being myself afterward, it was rather easy to compliment her. Actually, it was very easy. She did, after all, have an extravagant house, many nice material items besides that, and she was rather beautiful. Personally, I was rather fond of her eyes, providing they were not glazed over with irritation or annoyance. The constant worship was a nuisance to me, and the fact she was so uppity all the time.

However, Mrs. Featherstone helped in making conversation more liberal than Anne's fancies and antipathies for the day, although most of the conversations ended up directed around this. We were in the middle of discussing the latest play they went to see at the Dam (it was _Frank and Helen_) and Anne's dislike for it, when a servant came to the door and asked for both of the ladies who politely excused themselves.

Once they were out of eye and ear shot, I said, without turning around, "Hullo, Lucy."

I could tell from Lucy's voice that she was smiling. "Hello, Edmund. Would you like something?"

I knew my eyebrows shot up, "Why are you being so professional?" I asked. I noted that she had this tone of voice in neither my first nor my second meetings with her.

"Anne," she said, and if she were that sort of girl, I had a feeling she would have rolled her eyes. "I'm not supposed to talk to you. But I do have something for you. Is she coming back?"

I shook my head, and in a second, Lucy was standing beside the arm of the chair I was seated in, digging through her pocket. "Here," she said, pressing a pair of dice into my hands. "These are yours."

I was about to thank her, when the door swung open, and Anne came into the room. "What do you think _you're_ doing?" She asked, her eyes glazed, and an almost childish pout on her face.

"Oh," Lucy said, "I was just giving Edmund back something that belonged to him."

Her honesty was rather astounding, if it were I, I would have come off with a lie in the second, and I shoved the dice up my sleeve.

"What would you have that belongs to him?" Anne put her hands on her waist, and her tone was catty in a way I hadn't even heard before.

Lucy looked at me, I shook my head very lightly, begging her not to give away my secret, and so she squared her shoulders and said, "I don't know."

Anne cocked her eyebrow, "Go and dust the painting over there, will you." This was not a question. "And don't eavesdrop."

She was furious, and so I leaned in more towards Anne, "You can relax, Anne. She was just asking me for the time."

"There's a grandfather clock on the wall," Anne said dryly, almost folding her arms.

If I could have been myself, I would have told her to get over herself and walked away. Instead, I just said, "Don't be angry. Please?" I checked to make sure her mother was not coming back, and actually brought myself to kiss her on the cheek.

I barely had time to analyze this before she hit me. I rubbed my own burning cheek and exhaled, "Sorry!"

However, when I looked at her face, I could tell that I had done something right through my audacity. She was smirking in a pleased way, a very pleased way. Even though I think I accomplished what I needed to, I hoped it wouldn't happen again; I learned that day exactly how hard an aristocrat could hit.

XXXXXX

Sometimes I felt as though winter would last a hundred years. Then I would look at the calendar and be reminded that it had only been three weeks since I first arrived in Beaversdam, even though I nearly had one less month to work with, this was becoming quite the drawn-out process.

The day was biting cold, the coldest day that week, I thought. Naturally, however, Anne simply had to go out riding, considering the Featherstones had just received a new cobalt mare (not a _talking_ mare, naturally; they were uppity, not sadists) from a trainer in the east.

Therefore, after complimenting the cherry-colored fabric of Anne's newest riding gown, her face, and the exquisite stables, I was put onto a barely broken quarter stallion, and we set off on the bitter path with a stallion named Philip serving as chaperone over the two of us (he was a talking horse, and was a paid gardener).

The air I exhaled came out in gray puffs as I tried to steady my otherwise trembling fingers. Anne was going off about the riding trail.

"I managed to convince Father to add in this riding trail last year. He wanted more forest for when the hunting season came in the early spring and late autumn, but I reasoned that no one else in Beaversdam had a riding trail, and all the courtiers at Cair Paravel are riding these days. He saw my reasoning. Don't you?"

I saw two people far too concerned with what was fashionable, but I held my tongue.

"Although," Anne said, making a face I was beginning to recognize, "they could have done a better job cultivating that pathway this morning. There's too much loose snow."

"It just snowed," I said, forgetting myself.

Anne shot me a look. "So?"

As we talked, my stallion began to get jittery. I tried to stay on his back, but something must have spooked him, because the next thing I knew, I was somersaulting over his neck and staring at the gray winter sky and all the fluffy snowflakes falling onto me, as I heard the stallion canter away farther into the woods.

I was honestly surprised to hear Anne's voice even halfway laced with concern, "Can you get back up?"

I tried to sit, but felt a racking pain immediately searing just below my chest, exactly at my ribcage. It was then I realized that I had been taking such shallow breaths, and why, if I were to breathe deeply at all, I felt as though my lungs would burst.

Philip was over in a second. "How does your back feel?" he asked, and I told him where my pain was, in the gasping and forced way that I would.

"And you head?" Philip asked.

"It's fine," I gasped out.

"All right," the horse said, "the closest building is the gamekeeper's house. I think, if we can get you there, you'll be taken care of."

"If you're taking him _there_," Anne said stuffily, "I suppose I'll just be leaving them. You know I can't go there." As she finished, I heard her voice get quieter as her mare cantered away.

Philip led me gingerly to my feet, and took me back out of the wooded land, as slowly as he could, he led me to a little rustic cabin made of stone just outside the woods and almost directly next to the Featherstones' private lake. Here, he grabbed the rope attached to the knocker on the door with his lips. Unfortunately, however, he said he had to leave me there, but promised I would have assistance in a moment. As it was, I could hear someone coming towards the door, so I did not feel exactly abandoned.

As I was expecting a burly, tall, nearly wild sort of man to answer the door, I was surprised to the point of a painful gasp to find a fairly pretty, undeniably feminine, and familiar face behind it.

"Edmund?" Lucy blinked, and eying the way I was standing, she asked, "Are you hurt?"

Trying to maintain a masculine façade, I tried to stand up straight and brush it off, but only ended up doubling over again. I managed to mutter, "What are you doing here?"

"I live here," Lucy said, already pulling me inside, "Come on. Let's see what's the matter."

Lucy's house was warm and smelled like fur, warm rosewater and the pages of old books; it's a mixture that sounds unpleasant until you actually smell it. There was a dining table in the corner, a fireplace burning the mere embers of what once must have cooked a lunch, and glass windows. Instead of sofas and chairs, there were cushions and pillows lining a sitting area in front of the fireplace. Lucy laid me down on a cushion behind a little girl with a round face and dark curls.

"Put your arms up, please." Lucy asked as she stripped me out of my doublet, and somehow I found myself unable to look her in the eyes, which I suddenly remembered were blue. "I don't really know what's wrong—I don't think you broke your ribs…Father did that once, and it looked worse, but I think I'll get you bandaged and get you something dry to wear."

While Lucy left for another room that my position did not allow me to see, the little girl leaned over me and asked in a voice that commanded the utmost seriousness, "How old are you?"

"Sixteen," I told her.

The girl sighed, obviously disappointed. "You're too old to be my friend, then."

I lowered a brow, "Not necessarily. How old are you?"

"Six and three quarters." She said proudly.

"Well, then," I said, not knowing why I chose to amuse her, "that means you're almost seven. And almost seven-year-olds can be friends with sixteen-year-olds."

"Really?" the girl perked up, "I'm Gael _Pevensie!"_

"I'm Edmund Martin," I said, and watched as Gael's eyebrows darted upwards.

"Oh! _You're_ Edmund." I was beginning to wonder why both Pevensie girls had the same reaction to my name when Gael continued, "You don't look that confusing to me."

"Sorry?"

Gael shrugged. "Lucy's always talking about how confusing you are, but I don't think so."

"How am I confusing?" I asked, only feeling remotely guilty for getting a six-year-old to tell me about her sister's business, however, I truly was curious as to why Lucy thought I was confusing. I had not been lying to her, so why was she the one saying I was confusing?

"I don't know," Gael started fidgeting with her hair. "She's said that she doesn't understand how someone like you is so dead set on Miss Anne. She says it like that, too. She says, 'I just don't understand how someone like Edmund can be so set on someone like Miss Anne.'"

I nodded and opened my mouth to ask something else, but Gael was already speaking.

"And then Father says to Lucy, he says, 'Lucy,'" Gael spoke in a fake deep voice to imitate her father, "'you don't know this bow. How can you know what he's like?' But then Lucy just says she has a feeling about you. And she gets a little defensive about it too. I don't know what she means, but Father always mumbles something about _estrogen _and _pheromones_. I don't know what either of those things are, but he likes blaming them. Say, what do you think Lucy means by she has a 'feeling' about you?"

"Gael?" Lucy had come back into the room I was sitting in with a maroon tunic and white bandages on her arm. I had my face, not wanting to admit that my ears suddenly turned red. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm just telling Edmund how much he confuses you," Gael's young face went from rather pleased to upset in seeing her adopted sister's face. "Oh." She said, "Was that a secret?"

"I have the feeling it was supposed to be," I put in when Lucy just sat down beside me with the bandages, I could not read her face, and so I do not know what she was thinking at the time.

"Can I tell Peter?" Gael popped up onto her knees as Lucy started wrapping my middle with tight bandages.

I cocked my eyebrow, "I don't think you quite have the idea of what a secret is."

Gael shook her head, "I don't think Lucy has the idea, actually. A secret is something you don't want anybody else to know, isn't it? So then, why tell anyone about it anyway? Lucy's told me and Father."

"Well," I said, still unable to see Lucy's expression, but she was being awfully quiet, "I think secrets are something you want to share with one friend, and keep it in between the two of you, but their friends shouldn't tell it."

Nodding Gael said, suddenly excited, "And we can be friends, Edmund! I'll tell you a secret later then. And you can't tell anyone. Not Lucy, and not even _Peter_, okay?" Gael said, and then without warning, she excused herself to work on penmanship in her room with her doll.

Now I was able to direct my attention to Lucy, who was still wrapping bandages. We simply sat there in awkwardness, until Lucy began to talk about her sister.

"Poor Gael," she mused quietly, "she hates being alone, but she's always left that way. She just gets so excited around people. It surprises me, sometimes."

"What do you mean?" I asked, watching as Lucy cut and tired the remainder of the bandage.

Lucy looked a bit forlorn herself, and merely said, "She isn't always so happy. But, really, it's good to see her so happy."

The mood remained somewhat awkward, and I tried to lighten the situation, although my methods are questionable, even to me. "So, I'm confusing, then?"

Blushing, Lucy admitted with such honesty it took me aback, "Well, yes. I've said it before; you're so different. You act like two different people sometimes. But, there's something about you," by now she wasn't quite talking to me, but rather to herself, "You almost seem dangerous, almost. But I feel like there's nothing to be nervous about, even though I am." She smiled, and then straightened, "I'm sorry."

I shrugged and told her not to apologize. Honestly, even though we were both being somewhat forward, it was extremely flattering. Even though I kept on denying it, I was pleased that this attention was coming from Lucy.

I could not allow myself to think about it, but without my permission, I had become somewhat enchanted. Perhaps it all happened in that evening, but it more likely happened over the two weeks. I had drawn the Queen of Hearts, and I wouldn't think to discard her until it would be too late, and I couldn't.

Lucy and I spent the next few hours talking, until she had to feed kindling into the fire, considering it was getting to dark for the sky to light the house. I told her little about my life, very little, but I did tell her about my feelings of not belonging to the deck, even though she didn't seem to get the cards comparison; somehow I felt like I could trust her.

Eventually, Lucy pulled out an old leather-bound book and read a little bit of it to me. It was an old myth about this son of a goddess sent to kill a girl whose beauty was beyond compare. Naturally, however, the son of the goddess fell in love with this beautiful girl, but to stop his mother from finding out, she was forbidden from seeing his face—even though he went and laid with her almost every night. I disliked this part, but when I vocalized my dislike, Lucy put the book down and said, "He's only trying to protect her."

I rolled my eyes. "Still. Think about her. It's not fair that she doesn't get to see the man who's probably going to end up getting her pregnant."

Lucy's eyebrows knit; I do not think she was quite thinking about the situation like that, if it was possible for anyone to be that innocent. I think she knew what it meant, she wasn't stupid at all, but I just don't think she analyzed that bit of the story, sticking more to the mainstream plot.

She continued reading. The girl ended up looking at the goddess's son in the middle of the night. Unfortunately, for her, some taper from the candle fell onto him. The goddess's son was, apparently, displeased with this, and sent her away to the wilderness.

"Oh, that shows how in love with her he is." I said sarcastically; I cannot tell you how much of a relief it was not to monitor everything that came out of mouth. "Oh, and," I said, only to prove my point, "she's pregnant now."

"Is she?" Lucy blinked. "How do you know?"

"She has morning sickness, and it did say she was late." I said, pulling the book in words me, and pointing out the bit I was referring to.

"Oh," Lucy's eyebrows shot up, "I didn't even notice. You're paying more attention to this than I am." She smiled at me, and then it dropped, "What's wrong?"

In my pulling the book closer to me, Lucy followed it, and was closer to me than I had ever been to a girl, aside from the fraction of a second where I had kissed Anne's cheek. If this were any normal situation, I probably would have been impulsive and tried to kiss her. I doubted she would have slapped me. There was something in me that was keen on Lucy, something that needed to go away as soon as possible. I reminded myself about my father's debt, all that I was facing, and that I was supposed to focus on Anne Featherstone; I wasn't even supposed to be friends with Lucy Pevensie.

However, as I halfway listened to Lucy finish the story (the girl had to go and perform all these deadly tasks to get the son of the goddess back, I faded in and out throughout the remainder of the tale) I had to wonder, after all of this, could I rightly go back to pretending?


	6. Tired

It was well into the early morning by the time Albert Pevensie, Lucy and Gael's father, took me home in his cart pulled by two retired bay geldings. My ribs still hurt too much to walk all the way home, although Albert had confirmed that they were, in fact, not broken, but he volunteered to take me anyway.

I found myself utterly perplexed with the Pevensies as a whole. To begin, Albert, the perfect opposite of the big, burly, nearly wild man to be expected of a gamekeeper, was just so informal with me from the beginning, telling me not to call him Mr. Pevensie, and seeming surprised but not at all unnerved when he saw I was wearing his clothes. He seemed to equally love and respect both of his adopted daughters as though they were his from the start, even though he was only in his mid-twenties, and too young to have a daughter Lucy's age by blood. This idea of love and respect was foreign to me; my family loved each other enough, I was sure; I would not have even considered marrying someone like Anne if I did not, but respect, particularly for Mother, was so transparent, you could say it wasn't there at all.

I found myself feeling rather impious the longer I sat in the cabin with both Lucy and Albert. I don't think they quite realized it, but Albert was always mentioning the Emperor-beyond-the-sea and Lucy was always bringing up things about Aslan, and using the popular phrase that I'm unsure if I've ever felt Narnian enough to say; by the Lion. I found that queer alone; an Archenlander originally from Ettinsmoor came off as more Narnian than I did, and I had never set foot outside the borders. Gael seemed to take all of these things in as the normal, as I supposed it was, although she didn't seem nearly as religious, it did not even begin to make her nervous, as I always thought I should have felt, in light to my own family's beliefs not nearly as strong as theirs seemed to be. However, oddly enough, I was entirely comfortable with all of it.

"Isn't this where you live?" Albert asked me, suddenly, as the cart screeched to a stop just in front of the walk to the house.

"Thanks," I nodded, and began to clamber our of the cart when I noticed that Albert was looking at me, "What?"

Exhaling, Albert shot his eyebrows up, "I was just thinking about how my girls like you—both of them."

I shrugged; all the while trying to pretend this conversation was not getting awkward. "I like them too, I suppose."

"You suppose?" Albert shook his head numbly, "Did you know that Gael was set up for adoption because she was abandoned?"

I blinked. Lucy had said something about Gael hating being alone, but the fact that Albert was bringing this up now came as a bit of a shock. "No."

"She was left alone in an old barn for around three weeks when she was found. You can understand why she hates being alone. Unfortunately, my job is too dangerous and depends on quiet too much for her to come along; Lucy was told she couldn't keep her with her, and so Gael has to be alone during the day. I hate forcing that misery on her."

"I'm sorry," I said, and for once, I really meant it. Gael was only six, after all.

"She doesn't stay in a mood too long, though, which makes things difficult sometimes. The Emperor-over-the-sea knows—and Aslan, as well, what I'll do when she's a teenager. But, I've gone off from what I wanted to say. Gael's rather fond of you, as is, and I was wondering if you could come by the house from time to time, on your visits, and spend a little time with Gael when Lucy and I are away. It would stop her from being alone as often. I'm not asking for much, only, perhaps, ten minutes of your time to let an six-year-old girl know that someone other than her father, sister, or Peter Wolfsbane cares about the fact she's still alive."

"Well," I said, wondering what he meant by _still alive, _"when you put it like that, I can't really say no and feel just, now can I?"

Albert nodded, and said his thanks. I was out of the cart, and expecting him to say goodbye and drive off, but when he didn't, I didn't know whether to dismiss him, or what would come next. After a moment, Albert's face turned somewhat grim. "By any chance, did Lucy tell you what she went through before she was adopted?"

I blinked, rather perplexed. I half wanted to ask what it was that she went through, but I doubted that her father, of all people, would tell me. "No."

Albert seemed rather satisfied. "I see," he said, before his voice mimicked the infamous almost-growl of fathers with teenage daughters everywhere. "Watch yourself with her. She's my daughter, and as far as I'm concerned, and in some areas, she's more fragile than glass. Am I clear?"

"Absolutely," I said, knowing fairly well where he was coming from, but knowing, as he did not, that I would not be allowed to even consider anything along the lines of it, "but you don't have to worry."

"That's one of the things I am worried about." Albert's voice was so grim that, for a moment, I was almost dumbstruck. "Well, you have a good night. Say hello to your cousin for me." He clicked his tongue and disappeared around the bend in his little cart.

Once the cart was out of earshot, I muttered to myself, "What was that about? He's worried about me not hurting his daughter?"

What I didn't realize, was that he was worried about my feelings, allegedly, not being mutual to Lucy's, and that I would break her heart by not doing anything at all. Granted, he also meant the traditional hurt-her-mentally-physically-or-do-anything-remotely-sexual-and-I-will-do-everything-in-my-power-to-prevent-you-from-having-children-in-the-future sort of way, but at the time, I couldn't read into it at all.

I was thrust out of my analysis of the situation when I entered the house. Even though it was, quite possibly, three in the morning, Susan was sitting on the sofa with tea on her knee, talking quietly with a boy around Lucy's age with sandy hair and the finest black eye you ever saw.

Walking in, I own caught a bit of the conversation, "I mean, really, Corin, you ought to have had more sense than knocking some boy down in the middle of the street. And then his brother, too!"

"That boy made a perfectly beastly joke about you, so what did you expect me to do? Let him get away with it?" The boy named Corin said, throwing up his hands in a way that allowed even me to see the blood on his knuckles, blood I was sure was not his.

"An eye for an eye," Susan muttered, rather self-righteously, if you ask me.

Corin rolled his eyes, "Well, you didn't hear what he said."

"Why? What was it?" Susan lowered her eyebrow, suddenly more so interested. When Corin didn't answer, she noticed me in the doorway, "Edmund, you're back. Where have you been, and you weren't wearing that when you left, were you?"

I ignored most of Susan's questions, mostly due to the strong feeling I had that her tea had large doses of caffeine in it and simply shrugged, and introduced myself to the boy on the chair opposite her.

"I'm Corin," he said. "I live down the stairs. Why haven't you introduced us yet, Su?"

"You're too naughty and Edmund's too preoccupied." Came Susan's answer, somewhat rushed, "Where did you get those clothes?"

"Been at the Pevensies." I muttered, pouring myself some tea from the set on a table in between the furniture.

"You've been where?" Both Susan and Corin said in unison, and then Susan took over.

"Why would that affect what you're wearing?" Susan said, and then her face dropped. "Oh, no. Edmund, what did you do?"

"Can I box him?" Corin seemed a little overenthusiastic, and I inched away from him.

"No." Susan's voice was somewhat chastising, rather like a mother, and she turned to me, "What's going on here? Why are you coming home at three in the morning, in different clothes than you left in, saying you've been at the Pevensies?"

It was my turn to roll my eyes, and gave them a quick summary of my evening, sparing my thoughts and personal confusions on the matters, as well as Lucy's alleged confusion of me. "There you go. I don't know what you thought I did, but I don't think that was it."

"That's not the point," Susan said, standing and putting both hands on my shoulders. "Do the these words mean anything to you; five months?"

I sighed, rather aggravated, as I mumbled, "More than you know."

Once the atmosphere lightened, I learned that Corin was an old friend of Susan's from so long ago they could barely remember when they met. He seemed rather fun loving and carefree in his own way, I envied him. The queer way fate seemed to work out, however, was in two eerily similar things, but I suppose that is the way the cards are dealt to you; Corin was from Archenland and was a friend of the Pevensies. From what I was told was that Corin was friends with Susan first, and met the Pevensies through Peter, and Corin met Peter through Susan.

Once all of those details were out of the way, the three of us talked for about twenty minutes more, by this time, I was nearly falling asleep in my seat. I think that Susan decided to end the conversation because of that. It wasn't until I was buried in my blankets, and nearly asleep did I realize how confusing that all was.

XXXXXXXXX

"Ed! Ed? Wake up." I woke up with a jolt; it took me a few seconds to realize where I was. The shop was empty other than Peter, who had been jostling me awake, and I.

"What's up?" I asked groggily, standing up fully.

"Look alive," Peter said. "Remember, you have a job to keep up. Sleep at home."

Unfortunately, the cards were not looking in my favor that day, and I found myself, once again, falling asleep over the bags of flour I was supposed to be taking into the storage room. This time, instead of calling on me to wake me up, Peter simply smacked me upside the head.

"Ow!" I jerked awake, rubbing my head, and without fully realizing my surroundings, I mumbled, "Stop it."

Peter straightened his back, and said with a grim face, "Edmund, look. You only work mornings and evenings; you didn't even show up for the evening yesterday, and you're falling asleep today. I don't think that this job is working out for you."

"What?" I asked, fully awake by now. As much as my pride wanted to say that I was above begging, I was not. I needed as much money as I could get my hands on. I managed, somehow, to explain to Peter why I was so tired and why I didn't show up last night; all adding up to my injured ribs and staying so late in with the Pevensies, and Susan and Corin keeping me awake even later. "I know I should have come, and I'll try to be more responsible, but please let me go on working here."

Peter put his lips into a thin line, "You should have told me you got hurt. I'll give you another chance. Just don't fall asleep again; I'm responsible for making sure this store works when Mr. Kirke is away—which is all the time these days."

"I know," I said, knowing it was true; I had never even met the owner myself, Peter was, more or less, my employer. "I'm sorry."

With the warning, and a few pieces of candy that wouldn't get me sick, I managed to remain awake for the rest of the day. However, if I said I was in a good mood, I would be lying. I would not let it interfere with the way I acted to customers or to Peter, considering it felt like my place in the store hung in the balance.

I swept the floor and packaged crates until I thought my hands would bleed from it, I was determined to keep my place in the store, and if that meant working harder than I had ever before in my life, so be it.

There was a little tinkling of the bell above the door, and I looked up to see a familiar tear-streaked face, calling out for Peter before she was even in the door all the way.

Peter was out in a second, "Gael?" he said, going over towards the little girl, "What's wrong?"

"I—I just," Gael sputtered, "feel really sad today."

"Well," Peter said, stooping down to embrace the little girl, "I'm glad you came here to see me instead of staying home all alone."

"Lucy was upset with me last time." Gael looked at her feet. "When I just stayed in my covers, she thought I was really, really sick or gone. I don't like making Lucy upset."

I looked the little girl over; she looked so different from only a night before. She was still in her nightgown, for one. Had she crossed Beaversdam without wearing anything? It had been getting warmer, but it wasn't warm enough to cross the city without shoes on, despite the fact it looked like Gael just had. I supposed this was what Lucy meant by Gael not always being happy, even though I did not know exactly what was wrong with her.

Peter stood up again, and went behind the counter, still talking calmly with Gael. "Well, if she comes home and finds you gone, I'll just tell her that you were with me, all right? Now, can we do anything about you being so sad? How about some chocolate?"

I knew that the little girl had appeared as though she was crying, and looked truly distraught, but I knew there had to be something far worse than a usual six-year-old's sadness, when she mumbled, "No thank you. I don't want to eat."

Peter's eyebrows drew down, "Gael," he said. "Have you eaten anything at all today?"

The little girl shook her head, "I don't want to eat."

"Are you hungry?"

"I don't want—"

"Are you hungry?" Peter persisted. I think he was as concerned as I was. A six-year-old not eating anything all day? I did not know much about six-year-olds in general, but I knew that it was not healthy; much less, the fact that she still didn't want to eat.

Gael looked at her feet. "A little."

Just then, the bell on the door rung again, and a dryad customer came in, Peter told her good day and then turned to me. "Edmund, will you take Gael into the back and make her a sandwich or something?"

I nodded, and in half an instant, Gael was on my arm, hiding from whoever this dryad woman was, burying her face in my sleeve. "Hullo, Edmund," she muttered.

I took her into the back storage room, a broad, woody smelling space filled with boxes and products. Because there weren't any technical food products open, I had to crack open a new loaf of bread, and get into the ice room to open some meat and cheese.

Gael remained quiet during this whole experience, and merely nibbled on her sandwich, she eyed it with such little interest it was too strange to be normal.

To stop the chillingly eerie silence greeted to me, I said, "So, Gael, what's up?"

Gael shrugged, "I don't know. I didn't want to wake up today. But, then I'd sleep. And then I'd be alone."

"Well, you aren't alone right now, are you?" I said, out of pity, and general upset that a six-year-old really felt like that. I was ten years older, and I was hardened beyond feeling in some cases, thanks to the dice.

This question almost, but not quite, got a smile out of the little girl. "You're right," she said quietly. "I have you, and I have Peter. And Father and Lucy when they're around; but they aren't right now."

For the rest of the day, Gael sat on the ladder, putting away small cans or boxes I gave her, quietly staring into space otherwise. When it came time to close the shop for the evening, I volunteered to walk Gael back to her cabin. Peter gave me a look, a look I chose to ignore, but gave me the go ahead.

Just before I went to actually lock the shop for the evening, I looked up and saw Lucy standing just outside of the window. I opened the door, and Lucy was almost immediately inside. "Is Gael here?" she asked breathlessly.

I nodded, and Gael was climbing down the ladder, calling out, "I'm right here."

"Thank Aslan!" Lucy exclaimed, "I was getting worried."

"You're angry with me?" Gael looked like she was going to cry again.

"No." Lucy said quickly, "I thought you'd come here to see Peter. It's all right."

Peter came up to Lucy, asked about her day, smiled, and then offered to give Gael, who was still in her nightgown, a cloak and some boots to help with walking home, free of charge.

This, of course, left me alone with Lucy. Sometimes, looking back on this, I think Peter did this on purpose. "What's wrong with her?" I asked, rather quietly myself.

"We don't know." Lucy said, biting her lip out of concern. "One day she'll be fine, or better than fine; giddy almost, and then the next day, week, or minute sometimes, she'll feel like the world's crashing down around her. She'll be happy and affectionate sometimes, and then she'll be angry or she'll hit you the next minute. She gets the worst nightmares, too. She'll wake up screaming sometimes. Oh. I'm sorry," she shuffled uncomfortably, "I didn't mean to go off like that."

"It's all right." I said, "But, tell me, is she always this bad, when she's upset?"

Lucy blinked solemnly, and said sadly, "She's been far worse."

**A/N: Anyone want to guess what emotional disorder Gael has? Please review! **


	7. Gael's Secret

Four months. That's all that was echoing in my brain as the snow started to melt and the air grew warm. In Narnia, the winters usually evaporate away over night. Usually, this was a good thing; spring is mild and warm, and that year it seemed as though it was going to get hot enough to swim before the month was out. However, that same year, spring's entrance was only serving as the reminder for the time I lost. It wasn't enough time.

The idea of this month slipping away from me like the last one set me into jitters. I had put myself into borderline hysterics; spending the time that I wasn't working in the shop at the Featherstones' house. Anne was still incredibly fond of riding, and so we took many chaperoned rides through their private pathways. I was never put on the same horse as the first time, however, always put onto a fully broken, extremely docile mare. I didn't know whether to take offense to this.

There were a couple of things that I was coming to enjoy about the time I spent with Anne, one being her incredibly dry humor; if you could understand when she was joking, she could truly be very humorous. The other was the way that the time I spent with Anne always seemed to be timed. I only got about an hour or so a day with her, and while this seems bad for my situation, it was relieving sometimes, to be alleviated from her gossip so that I would not forget myself or have an outburst. This, I think, both helped me keep my head and helped Anne like me more, because she had time to think about the person that she thought I was. Lucy told me about this once, how Anne would go on about me to her, almost bragging. It helped keep my mind sound, as when Anne and I were together, she rarely let on that she liked me as much as Lucy seemed to think she did.

It seems to me that girls just assume that we, and by we I mean the entire male population of the world, pick up on their subtle hints down to the gestures they make. This is not so; and it irritates us. For all we know, that little eye twitch a girl gives us could simply be an eyelash caught in her eye, and not a form of flirting. Although I had less than sufficient experience with the opposite sex, I was able to pull things from people's expressions. Even though I could never crack into Anne's thoughts exactly, I was able to tell when she was pleased by what I said, and when she was displeased. Because this was the only thing I could tell, I was unable to know if Anne merely kept me around for the same reason she kept her friendship with Marjorie Preston. Anne kept Marjorie around from the way the younger girl would always agree with her, and who, like me, told her what she wanted to hear. If Marjorie actually thought like this, I would not know, as I had never got close enough to her to tell.

Sometimes I thought about asking Anne up front what she thought of me, but decided against it. Not only would it quite possibly set me up for social damnation, something that never really mattered to me before but now meant almost everything, but also it would probably be considered far too forward. It only ever seemed like a promising idea in the first place because Anne seemed to enjoy it when I got more forward with her, something I only ever dared to try in front of certain, sleepy-eyed chaperones, and not the typical, hawk-eyed chaperone who seemed to be a favorite of Mr. and Mrs. Featherstone (her name was Mrs. Macready, but as she doesn't enter this story very often, I can't say I'll elaborate much more on her).

In the end, I had to settle on taking others' words for how I was progressing, and according to both Lucy and Susan, it was going rather well. Somehow, I could not help but feel disappointed about it. I suppose nowadays I've realized that I had been hoping that Anne wouldn't like me, giving me an out. I could not rightly step away from this on my own option; but if Anne wouldn't have me, I wouldn't have had to go through with it, and we could have come up with something else. However, as it was, it looked like I did actually have to go through with it.

The idea of going through with marrying Anne didn't always seem like a grim thing, now that the challenge seemed, more or less, over, I was either indifferent, or dreading it. The indifference came when I enjoyed her company, when we got along on both parts of it; these were times that, while I didn't very much dislike her, I still wouldn't bring myself to think of what it would be like married to her throughout my life.

One time, when I was dreading what any possible future would be like, if Anne took the name Martin, I was on my way out from the house, grumbling inwardly about what a gossip she was, and how it was none of her business whatever reasons Susan and Peter broke off their relationship.

I remembered the way Anne mentioned Susan, talking like it was common knowledge that Susan and Peter broke it off because of another person living in the house with her and Corin when Susan first moved in. "His name was Caspian," Anne said snobbishly, "and who knows what was going on when Susan first moved in."

"People can live together without doing anything," I said, getting rather defensive for my cousin. After all, she was the closest family that I, really, had, more of a sister than a cousin, or so she had become in the last month.

"Just because they can doesn't mean that they will," Anne shrugged it off, "All I know is that Peter had a bit of a fit about it himself. I don't know if anything actually happened. But they went into quite the fight; Peter only wanted to reconcile after Caspian got married and moved away. Susan wouldn't have it."

"I don't care." I said, rising into a bit of a temper, even though I had wondered about it myself. I didn't want to learn that way.

"Well," Anne huffed, "if you didn't want to know you could have just told me. You don't have to get rude about it."

"It's rude to talk about someone else's family like that," I remarked.

"If you're going to yell at me just leave." Anne set into her seat.

Right." I said, "I will."

I was in such a fit on my way out the door, that I barely watched where I was going, and as I rounded the corner, I smacked right into another girl around my age. The Queen of Hearts, to be exact.

"Lucy?" I asked, eyeing the girl who had fallen down in front of me. Coming out of shock myself, I did not think to offer my hand to offer to help her up.

"Edmund." She smiled, and actually looked somewhat excited to see me, somewhat like a novice at poker who just drew a card to complete their winning hand.

As she stood up, I could not believe that I actually said it, but I wasn't fully aware of what I was saying, still rather put out from my conversation with Anne earlier. "You're all sweaty," I said.

She had wisps of hair out of the braid she had wrapped around her head, her face was flushed and her eyes somewhat like the last embers of a fire, tired, but still with some unique blue spark to them. Not to mention that she was, indeed, rather sweaty. I could not tell you where a sudden burst of imagination found me.

"Well, it's laundry day," she said. "It's really hot in there."

"Looks like it," I said, before mentally slapping myself. I wasn't supposed to be saying things like that to Lucy, even though they came without thought.

Thankfully, Lucy proved to be more innocent minded than I was, nodded, and changed the topic of conversation, "Where are you off to now? You seem upset."

"Well, strictly speaking, I'm supposed to be on my way out. Anne and I got into an argument, I suppose you could say." I said, muttering it out.

"Oh," Lucy's face went aback, and quite frankly, I couldn't read it, "well, I'm sorry. She's bound to get over it in a day or two, if that's what you want."

"I'll make a note of that," I said, shooting Lucy a friendly smile, and as we turned our separate ways, and I couldn't help but think, Lucy wouldn't even begin to be rude about my family, much less throw me out because of my standing up for them. The comparison came on accident, as did most things going on within me when I was around her.

This conversation with Lucy somehow drew me over to the corner of the Featherstones' land, over to a little stone cabin. I did not know whether to knock, but eventually just stepped in, honestly rather concerned that Gael might be upset again.

To something that could be called relief, Gael was sitting on the cushions, cradling her doll in her arms. She jumped up at the sight of me. "Ed! You came to see me!"

I nodded, and was immediately taken into a back room by Gael, who all the while chattered on it. She pointed out the left-hand side, which was evidentially hers. "Lucy gets the side with the window," she explained, pointing to the right, "When she grows up, I'll get that side. But then she won't be around anymore, so I don't mind not having that side."

She then proceeded to introduce me to her three dolls: Miriam, Helena, and Violet. She held up the one I had seen her with at the beginning of my visit, and the last time I was there, a dull porcelain face with thin dark hair. "Miriam used to be Lucy's, and I take especially good care of her because she's really old. Lucy brought her all the way from Archenland. She said that a nice man who visited her mother…not the mean ones, gave her to her." She sat the other doll down and introduced Helena, a rag doll that was supposed to be based on the original Queen; apparently, she was Gael's doll before Miriam was given to her, and Violet, who was made out of a cornstalk.

"But, you're a boy," Gael said, straightforwardly. "So you won't want to play with my dolls. We can do something else. What do you do for fun?"

Somehow, I ended up sitting across from the six-year-old with a hand of five cards in my palm. Naturally, I wanted to take it a bit easy on Gael, but instinct kicked in, and I automatically went forward with whatever ways to win, nearly finding myself slide a card up into my sleeve, at one point.

We were betting buttons from a sewing box, and I had to explain Gael the rules of poker once or twice, but it finally came time to place the last of it. "I see your black buttons with two holes in them," I said, "and will raise you two of these shiny white ones."

"I have a question," Gael said, a look of utmost seriousness on her little face. "Which is better," and she turned around the cards in her hands, "three of these 'A' cards, or two of these cards with the ladies on them?"

I gaped. "You've played this before, haven't you?"

She nodded excitedly, "Father and Lucy say that I shouldn't play tricks on people when it comes to this, but I don't think it really matters. It's just fun, isn't it?"

"Of course," I said slowly, "it's all fun and games."

Gael cocked her head with her brows knit together. "Oh!" she asked me, "We're friends now, aren't we? Do you want to know my secret? I'll show you as long as you don't tell Lucy, Father, or even Peter."

With her way of dragging me about, Gael led me off the Featherstones' land, over the tall stone fence surrounding the perimeter of it, save for the woods, using a rope latter she said that she built with Lucy. She let me straight across the city, passed the tavern that entranced me, passed my house, and passed the shop, until we were at the very outside of the city.

She led me to a tall tree, surrounded by brambles and ferns all around the base of it. "Wait here." Gael told me, disappearing underneath bramble-filled bushes.

I waited just outside the brambles, wondering where Gael had disappeared to, thinking that Lucy probably would not take to kindly if I lost her sister. It took a moment but soon I heard a little voice, "Can you see me? I'm up here."

I looked up, and if it were summer, I definitely would have not seen Gael perched on a branch, but as it was, I could see her. What I couldn't see was how she got up into the tree; it was far too covered in thorns and brambles for anyone to make it up there.

"You can't tell anyone about this," Gael said, projecting her voice down to me. "It's our secret now, because I'm sharing it with you. I come here sometimes when I'm really, really sad and lonely, and when I cannot see Peter; when I'm really alone again. And I climb up here, and I can see all of the city. I don't feel as lonely when I do, because I pretend that I'm in any of these houses I see, with friends. I sometimes can see Lucy coming into the shop, on her way to get something for Miss Anne, and I wish I was allowed to work with her."

"Why don't you like Lucy, Edmund?" Gael asked me unexpectedly.

"I like Lucy just fine," I said, shielding my eyes from the bright sun.

"Father doesn't seem to think so," Gael frowned. "He said, 'Well you are right on something, Lu,' he was talking to Lucy and I think they thought that I was asleep because I don't understand most of it. Anyway, Father said, 'Edmund seems like too nice of a boy to be so set on Miss Anne, as you say, but that's just it. He seems to have the interest in Miss Anne, not you, love.'"

She took a breath and continued her narrative, "And then Lucy said something about not needing that kind of interest, but Father must have given her a look, because then she said, kind of shyly, 'Why do you think?'"

"Erm, Gael," I somewhat intervened, "Do you remember what we talked about when it comes to secrets?"

"But she didn't tell this to me. I heard it. That's not the same thing. Father just answered Lucy, and he said, "I couldn't tell you; there are plenty of qualities in Anne that would drive any sane man up a wall, and plenty of qualities in you that should send them running to you. I can think of about ten or more things that could be going on in that boy's mind, around both you and Anne. I don't want to tell you this, but none of them work out for you.' It really seemed to bother Father when he said this, he used his gloomy voice, like the one he used when Lucy found out that her birth mother died last year. He only ever uses it when he thinks that Lucy or I need to hear something, and he knows we'll hate to hear it."

I did not want to say anything about me at the moment, more than a little confused myself, but instead I asked the other thing that came to mind, "Lucy's mother died last year?"

Gael nodded. "She didn't know how to take it, really. She never really had good memories of before she became a Pevensie, she's said to me, at least. But that is a secret. And if Lucy hasn't told you about it herself, I shouldn't."

"I understand," I said, even though it was beginning to peak my curiosity as to what did go on when Lucy lived in Archenland, and Ettinsmoor as well. Instead, I managed to ask, "Am I always the topic of conversation at the Pevensie house?"

Gael shook her head, "Only when Lucy's seen you during the day, but she can talk about other things, too. She just doesn't seem to want to. But we talked about laundry yesterday."

XXXXXXXXX

When evening came around, I had walked all the way up to the Featherstones' front door again, figuring I had better apologize to Anne before going to the shop for my evening shift. It was typical for me to be seen at the Featherstones' door, and so a faun who typically answered the doors in the house simply led me into the tearoom without more than a simple, "Oh, it's you."

Anne was sitting in her usual chair, opposite Marjorie, who honestly looked rather put out, and I understood why, feeling similarly myself. Lucy was passing out tea to both girls looking somewhat worn, but rather annoyed as Anne chastised her, "Didn't I tell you to bring in the tea on the white china? The blue is just so old. Besides that, bisque is cheap."

"Come on now, Anne," Marjorie put in, "The blue bisque is some of the prettiest cups you have."

Anne rolled her eyes, "It's the principle of the thing, Marjorie. Lucy here has to learn to follow orders."

"Your mother was using the white china, Miss Anne," Lucy explained, tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear, and she shot a smile at Marjorie that seemed to thank her for her defense.

Exhaling in a bored fashion, Anne muttered, "Well, you could have at least used the red china. Now, go and stand against the wall, will you? You can't mess that up, can you?"

The way Lucy was able to keep her composure amazed me; it was rather impressive. "I don't see how I could."

"I'm sure you could find a way," Anne muttered, and I swore I saw Lucy make a face behind Anne.

Marjorie was the first to actually notice me, and she reached over the table in between the two chairs. "Anne, you have a visitor."

Anne looked over at me, and her brown eyes almost flashed. "Edmund. What are you doing here?"

"I, uh," I stepped forward to stand before Anne, "let's make it Pax. I'd hate to think of you mad at me all night."

While this was true, I decided to omit the reason for not wanting Anne mad at me all night was because it made me nervous to think that, if we never made up, my family would be sold away into slavery.

Pursing her lips, Anne seemed to think, "All right, I suppose, since you're so upset about it. You know, though, you should have told me that you weren't okay with me talking about Susan. How was I supposed to know that you didn't want to listen? You listen to me with everything else; I really didn't have a way to know. And, either way, you shouldn't have yelled at me about it. I just thought you ought to know what people said about her, she is your family, and you are living with her, after all."

How Anne managed to flip around the situation to make it all my fault astounded me, and while I desperately wanted to come back with some sort of snappish, sardonic remark, I once again had to silence myself and simply say, "All right. Brilliant, then. I don't mean to just stop by and leave suddenly, but I do have to go and work, and it is a bit late for me to be here at all."

"Fine," she rolled her eyes, and just as I turned away, she called to me again, "There is something I need to ask you, though."

"What is it?" I asked, hoping inwardly that she would not ask me something that would make my life even more difficult than it was already.

"It's been almost a month, I have to know if we're in something serious. Are we…exclusive? I do have to know, after all, I was asked to go riding by this nice gentleman, handsome, too; and nearly twice your size. Well, as you can see, I want to know if I should have accepted the offer, or if I should accept any going on in the future."

I felt something go down within me like a rock sinking in water, and equally as pleasant, "I was waiting for you to ask; I didn't want to be too forward."

Anne cocked her eyebrow, "You aren't supposed to let me do it. Good grief, Edmund, you're so emotionally inept. You _will_ work on that, won't you?

Chocking back whatever was starting to come up my throat, I said, "As long as that's what you want."

"I'll hold you to that," came her response, she seemed pleased, and then she looked to the side of the room, over towards where Lucy was standing, and something darkened her fair features, a rather nasty look that I doubt her own mother would have liked to see. It was something that would almost, but not quite, be considered smug and yet somewhat threatened.

I turned away yet again to leave and go to the shop, when Anne called a second time, "Oh, and Edmund? There's something else."

"Yes?" I asked, and swung around to face her, I heard slight gasps from both of the other girls in the room, and the next thing I knew, Anne kissed me.

**A/N:, I am leaving on Saturday to go on a mission trip with my youth group for five days. So, basically, it'll be a few weeks from now before I can get another update up, or do anything, really. **


	8. The Tavern

I didn't know what it was, because there certainly wasn't anything worth complaining about Anne's kiss; she had soft lips and was rather good at it, yet somehow I found myself upset that evening, while I was working in the shop. Peter did not say anything, but his apparent lack of faith in my ability to cover up my emotions showed clearly when he sentenced me to work in the back for the evening. The silver lining to this proved to be that the faun lady with the husband who was late for everything came back and prattled on and on about who knows what. If I had been up front, I would have had the privilege of listening to that. It did help brighten my mood a little to think that I did not have to listen.

Despite my somewhat brightened mood, I was up in arms and generally tetchy for the rest of the evening. I did not know what was wrong with me; I was getting closer to my goal for saving my parents. Why, then, did I feel so terrible?

I swept up quickly, but thoroughly, not wanting to be in danger of losing my job again, but I dodged Peter on my way out; for all I knew, he might want to talk about my mood at work, and that was the very last thing I wanted to do. I supposed that if it were merely a social thing, he would let me simply blow off my steam, but as it possibly affected the business, it was more likely that I would be in danger of getting a talking-to.

On my way back to the house, I couldn't help but hope that Susan would be taken in conversation with Corin when I got back, so I would not have to deal with social interactions. Even though my cousin was the second most agreeable female I had spent time with in a long time, I simply didn't want to be around anyone. This, consequently, got me thinking about how disagreeable people were as a whole, well, not people like Gael or Lucy, definitely not Lucy, but people in general. They were so selfish and ridiculous—crass, even. People were so unlike the world of my comfort zone, where people only come into play to place their bets and lay down the cards that Lady Luck dealt out to them.

I should have known. I should have known that sheer stupidity would come through and I would find myself in front of the tavern, in a foul mood, lacking in self-control, and with a thirst for ecstasy.

The queer thing is that I did not realize my lack of self-control. Gambling had a rather big part of that. Honestly, I thought that my practice in abstaining from drinking or putting too much money onto the table gave me more self-control than any man in Narnia was. This was not the case; all it did was make me a successful gambler. If anything, it gave me less self-control that any man in Narnia who is not mad had; I realized this eventually, and how I realized it put me over the top. However, all of that comes later.

It is easy to presume that I found myself in the comfort of tavern music, smoky air, and the sound of drunken men crying and singing all too off key. There was a new fad of hired dancers, brought in from the southern areas, in taverns. Admittedly, I had to stop for a minute to watch their subtly alluring hand gestures through the secondhand smoke, which I inhaled gratefully. I made my way through, towards a nearly empty table and a man shuffling a deck of cards between his fingers. Looking him over, he looked somewhat hard to read, but not terribly devious. I decided to only bet a fraction of my last pay. Besides, I thought, trying to justify my leaping heart, when I marry Anne; it isn't as though I'll need this money. The thought was meant to make me feel better; instead, it only made me feel sicker.

I sat down across from the man. "What's your game?" I asked.

"Find the Lady," he said dryly.

That wasn't even a game; it was a trick. It looks simple enough; played between the tosser, who manipulates the cards and takes the bets, and the punter, a more or less gullible opponent who places a bet on the game in the hope of winning some money. Obviously, you cannot win unless you are the tosser. This man was more devious than he looked. "No," I said. "I only play games when they can actually be played."

He raised his eyebrows, "Fine, then. You know what you're doing. Rockaway, then."

I nodded, "Deal me in."

This man was from Ettinsmoor, I knew immediately. Ettins called this game Rockaway, Archenlanders called it Last One, Telmarines called it Crazy Eights, Calormenes Pesten, and Narnians call it Crates. The game progressed, laying down the legal cards and suits; changing suits, reversing the directions, everything, until I laid down my last card, and collected my winnings.

"Play again?" I asked, relishing the rush, the feeling of utter bliss, ecstasy; everything I had known since I was little. My head was reeling, and if I were still a young boy, I would have been beaming from the raw feelings; as it was, I knew how deathly emotions were.

The man eyed my face through the smoke. "You know, I just thought of something. Are you sure you're eighteen?"

I was not expecting that. Back where I used to live, everyone knew my age, everyone knew I gambled, and everyone turned the blind eye. My breaking the law just didn't matter there. Evidentially it did in Beaversdam.

Stiffening from my surprise, I rushed, "Why? Do I look older?"

The man shook his head, "Younger. Not a day over seventeen, I'd wager."

"How much are you betting this time through?" I asked stupidly, in attempt to redirect the conversation.

"Do you have some sort of identification?" the man would not let up.

"No," I said, back in my element of bluffing. "Just turned eighteen. Today was my first shot at betting."

He shook his head, "You knew too much at the beginning; no one but a seasoned gambler knows about Find the Lady."

I shrugged, "Fine, caught me. I'm twenty-one."

The man's gaze grew intense, but I think he was starting to buy it, as he reached for the deck of cards again. That is, until some bloke came up to him. "Well, 'ey, 'aven't seen you in a lon' time, Stanford." He clasped my opponent on the back, and then looked at me. "Ain't this Susan Martin's cousin? She said 'e was comin' to stay wit' 'er." He turned fully to my opponent, Stanford, and said, "She said that's why she couldn't go to that plat at th' Dam yesterday."

Of course, _that's _the reason, I mentally rolled my eyes, but then stiffened again as the bloke finished.

"She said 'e wasn't a day ovah sixteen, though."

Stanford glowered at me, and took back his cards. "You know, boy, I could have you arrested?"

I shrugged and arose to my feet, seeing as I wasn't getting anywhere, and the man who knew who I was, tussled my hair as I passed him, saying, "Better luck next time, squirt."

I, honestly, could not believe he called me squirt. Not only was I almost a full head taller than him, he was also balding and rather fat, so I had complete confidence that I could take him. However, as I didn't like tavern brawls terribly, and not having my knife on my at the time, I just stalked away.

I tried to gamble a few more times, even attempted to get into a round of Narnian roulette, but the fact that I was sixteen spread like wildfire, and no one would let me in. Someone offered to buy me drinks, but as I could not gamble, and I did not drink, there was no more reason for me to stay.

Because I had my winnings from the first game, I did leave the tavern feeling as though I wasted my time, but not nearly as surly as I had been walking in. I even tried to brighten my mood further by watching the dancers on my way out. Granted, I didn't really enjoy it, not being attracted by that sort of thing; being around examples of that all my life made me somewhat immune to it; and sometimes I thought that nothing would ever trigger me, but thoughts of accidents and contradicting innocence made me tremor, thus I knew I was not completely immune to this portion of humanity.

However, once I was done watching in near boredom, I began to walk home, realizing how late it had become only when the clock in a murky window of a house struck twelve.

Susan was awake again when I came through the doors, only that time, she wasn't talking with Corin, and that time, she was cross. "All right, Edmund," she said, arms folded at her chest, "You have two minutes to tell me where you've been."

"Yes, Mother." I snapped. I wasn't quite upset, but I was rather irritated with being chaperoned all the time; when I was with Anne, and when I was alone; someone was always around, watching my every move.

"Ed," she said, her voice sharp. Then she sighed, and said more gently, "You weren't with the Pevensies again, were you?"

"No," I said on the defensive, and then proceeded to make something up, "I was at the shop."

"At the shop?" she echoed. "The whole time?"

"Yes," I said. "Sweeping, organizing, and filling receipts."

She caught my bluff, having previously set me up. "Peter, would you come in here for a second?"

I winced as the blonde boy appeared from the shadows of the hallway. "I stopped in because you dropped something in the storeroom," he held out my dice. "It's loaded, and we don't carry this kind, so I figured it had to be yours."

"You said you weren't going to gamble anymore!" Susan threw her hands into the air. "You have something that you need to do, and for some reason you get some sort of thrill in finding things that get in the way."

"Why are you so concerned?" I backed up, going for the defensive.

"Maybe I ought to go," Peter mumbled, inching out, most likely not wanting to hear something he wasn't meant to, something that would upset Susan if he heard.

"Peter, sit." Susan commanded. "And, Edmund, I'm concerned because, believe it or not, I care about the family. My parents don't seem to believe it, but I do." Her tone softened again, " I know that you're facing an impossible task, and I also know that you can't afford any distractions. Gambling, working too long in the shop, Lucy—particularly gambling and Lucy, you don't have time for any of it."

"I know you're trying to help," I said, "but I don't see how two things as harmless as a way to get money—to help with what I'm supposed to be doing, and a person who I can actually talk to and trust wastes my time!"

"It wastes your time because of this." Susan thrust a heavy parchment envelope in my face, ever so slightly glowering at me, in her own way that seemed to read, "I can't believe you're such an ass."

"Did you open my letters?" I asked, even though the seal on the envelope seemed intact.

Susan rolled her eyes, "Of course not. I got one, too, telling me some details. Edmund, Aunt Rose is—"

I turned around and headed for my bedroom, the envelopes in my hands, wondering what would possess my parents to write to me. Neither of them were the type to write to me just to say hello, Mother would be more likely to be the sort, but even she wasn't fond of the expense that came with the postage system.

Susan turned to Peter, I heard from behind me, and said, "Come with me," before leading him into the kitchen.

I shut myself in my bedroom, not even thinking about the other two people on the floor, and collapsed onto my bed. The contents of the envelope, surprisingly enough, included three letters; two from Mother, one dated less than a week after I left for Beaversdam, the other dated a few days before I received it. The third was from my father.

Always secretly having the urge to impress the man, I picked up Father's letter first, discarding the two from my mother on the table, next to my dice and the deck of cards lacking only the Knave of Spades located in my sleeve.

I squinted down in the insufficient light, and read what my father wrote.

"_While I know that this very well be the last task you want to do, or as your mother seems to think she knows better than I, but I cannot really see it." _

I wrinkled my brow, knowing that Father didn't exactly have a gift with words, often making things overly confusing, but I read on. "_Don't criticize me for not being sensitive enough, but I don't understand how you could have many objections. You never had, unless I was an even worse father than Rose makes me think I am, any girl that you called sweetheart and so I don't see how you wouldn't want to take the challenge (and I know how you love a challenge) of wooing Miss Featherstone, and living in comfort for the rest of your life. I know we're asking so much out of you, and I can't tell you how much your mother and I need your cooperation." _

I flipped the page over, as Father's penmanship was large enough to cover the page with only that. "_And so, I hope you will write back to tell me how you are progressing; your mother and I await in unease until then. We have sold our furniture and both had jobs to try and pay some of the debt I owe. I really do apologize for the trouble I have caused, and blame myself for your mother getting so ill from working the intense hours she did." _

I blinked. Mother had taken ill? Searching through my memory, I could never think of any time my mother was sick. Granted, I remember her being flushed and seemingly warm hands and face as she checked on me constantly when I was scarlet with fever as a young boy.

I continued reading. _"I don't know what's wrong with her, but she doesn't want to spend our earned mother on anything; particularly a physician. She's always saying that she wants to pay back your freedom. I will not pretend to understand the way she's thinking. She's been hallucinating recently, and thinks that it is you sold to Calormen, and my fault that you were. She isn't in her mind, and as much courage as it takes me to put this on paper, I will tell you that I am afraid." _

I had to read over the last sentence he wrote, because it did not seem believable; no one in the Martin family, and particularly not Jonathan Martin, spoke like this. And, yet, the sentence did not change. Every time I read it over, it was the dame; the letters did not morph and change to something more characteristic. I read it again, twice, wondering about the phrase.

"_Aslan help us." _

Father did not close his letter sending his love; at least I could believe that. He simply wrote a closing hoping I was well, with his full name. I said it aloud, mimicking the voice of the father who was mine, the father who gave me life, taught me the trade, which was my obsession, my father whose sins I was paying for.

**/!\ I'm back! I missed fanfiction while I was away. Anyhow, please enjoy this chapter. Both of the card games mentioned in this chapter are real—including Find the Lady, also called Three Card Monte (anyone asks you to play it—don't. I lost twenty bucks that way once.)**


	9. What I Didn't Want to Know

I did not work the next day, as the shop closed in light of a three-day holiday celebrating either the birthday, anniversary, or coronation of the king or queen. I had never celebrated it with Mother and Father, so I was unsure as to what exactly we were celebrating, but I had to admit it was nice to get a break from working behind the counter all day.

There was a festival that first day; there were children running happily through the streets, stands on the side with shows and plays going on, people brought in food for each other, and there were feasts from this to provide food to everyone in Beaversdam. The wealthy and middle class found themselves celebrating together, eating at the same table, and dancing in the same square. The poor, however, were celebrating in the alleyways and gutters of the streets, smoking and trading unmentionable things in plain sight, but no one seemed to care. To everyone, this was a holiday celebrated by everyone, and it was to be a merry one. My problem with this was, I knew the sort of people who occupied the alleys and gutters, having met them many times before in taverns. To say that they were one sort of people would be a lie, however; some of these people truly did spell out trouble, others simply were in a bad situation, founded through the addictions hosted at their social clubs, the commonly used term being tavern. Yes, a majority of these people it is safe to say, were drunkards or lived by any other way of life frowned upon by the general public; but doesn't everyone?

It was a realization I had been thinking about for a great while. Every single person on this side of the Far East has some sort of way of life that would be frowned upon if any of the hypocrites of the world discovered it. Everyone had a secret, be it anything like mine or not. Susan had what seemed to be a scandal concerning Peter and the other fellow that lived there before he moved attached to her name; and there is even the part of the Martin family scarcely mentioned, or thought about, that also has attached itself to Susan's name. Peter may seem like an open enough sort of fellow, but he goes hand in hand with what others say about Susan. Even the Pevensie family seemed to have a secret: Lucy's life in Archenland seemed strictly confidential. It seems as though, wherever you go, whomever you meet, there is no way to avoid gossip and the life behind the curtain.

Susan was taken by a swarm of men almost the second we entered the square together, all of them wanting to dance to the music playing in the street, or to buy her a drink, or anything else entailed in these sorts of festivals. I was almost pushed out of the way of my cousin, and had no choice but to retreat when the mob got bigger and bigger. In a flash of thought, I realized how easily someone as popular as Susan could get stolen from in a crowd like this; surely no one would notice her purse getting slashed, that is, if a potential thief could get close enough for that.

I walked around the street for a few minutes, watching the theatrics in the stands, not terribly interested, and the young children running about in their tag games. I saw Gael amongst a group of these children, laughing and playing, she noticed me for a fraction of a second, and she waved to me, but immediately brought herself back to her games.

I leaned against the wall of a building, sitting back to watch the festival, enjoying watching all the fun going on, and thinking that I might try one of the sports matches promised to go on later in the day, clean broadsword fighting would be a decent bet for me, I had tried it once or twice before. I was thinking about this when I realized that Anne and Mrs. Featherstone were approaching me.

After the appropriate greetings, Anne almost immediately began telling me about her family's specific plans for this holiday. "Well, this is really the most droll day," she said matter-of-factly. "It really is mostly designed for peasants, so they'll get to have some fun. But, you know, tomorrow they have an annual special at the Dam; it's an especially fantastic twelve act opera called _Inklings. _Then, the last day, we host the biggest ball Beaversdam has ever seen, for all of those invited, of course. Although, last year, there were those uninvited dancing to the music out in the street—ooh, it was so disgusting to hear about all that filth mucking up the road and walkway."

Mrs. Featherstone cut in, "You haven't been to the Dam yet, have you, Edmund, dear?"

I shook my head and racked my brain for excuses not to accept the invitation that was imminent. A twelve act opera was not exactly how I would want to spend my day, and surely, it would take all day. The fact it was an opera made me a little nervous as well, wasn't an operetta where they sung everything? I tried not to groan as I accepted Mrs. Featherstone's invitation.

Just as I did so, a group of ladies strolled by and Mrs. Featherstone joined their group, after waving us away. I wondered for a moment why she would leave us alone, before I realized that of course she had that liberty; we were out in public in broad daylight. I supposed I had gotten used to the nuisance.

Anne continued talking about that blasted opera. "Father bought us a box in the theater, it's up so high, and has the most comfortable chairs ever; we have the best seats throughout the whole theater, I'd wager. _Inklings_ really is a fantastic show, although they have a new cast, so I doubt it will be all that good, at all, really. It all has to do with the actors, don't you think?"

I nodded, and continued listening to her incessant prattle, all the while thinking about my mother, sick and hallucinating. The story my father weaved about what she said made me nervous, as she usually had a realistic streak to her, and a reasonableness that reminded me of Susan. I suddenly remembered that I still had two letters from Mother in my room, and inwardly cursed myself for not bothering to open them.

"Are you all right?" Anne asked me, eyeing me with a raised brow. "You made a face."

"No, I didn't." I mumbled, trying not to get into anything. "Why would I make a face about that twelve-act opera?"

Anne put her hands on her waist, "You did make a face, for one, and for another thing, I was talking about Marjorie. Here she comes, speaking of which."

I raised my own eyebrow, she was gossiping again? It figured, and I looked up in just enough time to see whitish blonde come towards us and stand in front of Anne. "Hullo, how are you two enjoying the festival?" Marjorie asked in her small voice.

Anne tossed her head, "You know it's the worst part of the holiday. There's never anything to do but walk around the city, as though we didn't do that every day anyway."

As far as I knew, Anne did not walk around the city every day, but I kept my mouth clamped shut, as usual.

"Say, Marjorie," Anne turned towards the younger girl with a vaguely similar expression, "have you seen Lucy anywhere today?"

Marjorie's face fell, and I knew immediately that she was lying, as she said, "No, why would I know?"

Rolling her eyes, Anne said, "We all know you're always all taken up by her. But, the little witch just disappeared after dressing me this morning. I couldn't even make my specific order for breakfast—I don't know why everyone likes her so much, she's so selfish."

I had my own thoughts on this situation, but all I said was, "She doesn't seem all that selfish."

"I swear, men are so simple. She doesn't seem selfish or any of the other things I know her to be because she's trying to attract you, and get you away from me—she's just jealous that I'm better off than her. Remember to watch yourself around her, Edmund; the apple doesn't fall very far from the tree, and even if she wasn't raised by a whore she sure as anything was born to one."

I coughed. "Excuse me?"

Anne nodded, seeing that she got my attention. "I don't know the full story, mind you. However, I do know that Lucy's birth-mother was a rather well-known whore down in Archenland—in Ettinsmoor, too, I think." She shot me a look; "Just because you know this now, don't start thinking that you can get away with things. I'd find out, and furthermore, so would everyone in Beaversdam, and you would _not_ want to lose your whole reputation because of a heartless rendezvous, would you?"

I shook my head, "No." I spoke; however, I could not help but think on this. Was it true? I could not see how someone as innocent as Lucy could have been born to a prostitute. It made no sense.

"And, anyway," Anne continued, "she's just jealous of me, so if she pursues you, and you can bet she will, it would only because she cannot stand for me to have something else she cannot."

Marjorie intervened here, looking somewhat sick to her stomach. "Come on, now, Anne. That isn't true."

"She's got your friendship already," Anne snapped. "She'll try any day now to turn you against me, Miss Preston."

Putting a hand on Anne's elbow, Marjorie said, "I don't think that's true, but we'll see. You know I won't. Come on, now, let's go and look at some of the shows."

As the little girl pulled Anne away, I could not help but feel rather relieved, that is, until Marjorie bid Anne to lead the way, and came back to me. "Anne's twisted it, just so you know. She doesn't like it that all of her friends like Lucy better than her, even though Lucy has next to nothing."

"And about Archenland?" I whispered, wondering to myself why I wanted to know.

Marjorie's face grew solemn, "I'm not supposed to talk about that."

I think that answered my question in itself, but then to my surprised Marjorie spoke to me again. "But, don't let anything Anne says affect the what you think of Lucy. She's over by the shop you work at if you want to see her." With that, Marjorie turned around and dashed to keep up with Anne.

XXXXXXXXXX

I found Lucy where Marjorie told me she would be, sitting on a crate behind the shop, and as I suspected she would be, with a book on her lap, only the unexpected thing was that she was not alone. Corin sat beside her, and they were talking about something; whatever their topic of discussion was, it looked serious.

Lucy looked away from Corin, saw me, and brightened. "Edmund!" she said, "What brings you over here?"

I shrugged, "Wanted to get away from all the people," I made my way towards the two, and sat down on another crate that stood outside the door. I nodded to Corin, "How are things going?"

"All right," Corin said. "I was trying to get Lucy to do something, but she's become incredibly less fun in the past year."

"I broke my leg last year," Lucy said, but she was laughing, "and I got a concussion."

"Never let an injury stop me," Corin smiled at Lucy, I felt a little annoyed, but I could not tell you why. "Well, it's all right, I guess. Lu's still, at any rate, as good as any boy, and I'd rather spend this time with her than with Susan—" I must have gotten a look on my face, because Corin amended himself. "Susan's good to be around, really she is; but it's almost as though she tries to be my mother, always acting like an ordinary grown-up lady. Lucy's better for climbing trees and catching frogs and things that really matter."

I thought of Lucy climbing trees and catching frogs, and got a bit of a smile on my face. "Handmaid by day; tree-climber and frog hunter by night," I mumbled to Lucy, "what don't you do?"

Lucy put out her arms like a bird spreading its wings, "Fly."

With this, the three of us had a long laugh, cut short when Corin became distracted by a boy on the street, and ran off after him saying, "You want to try and insult Susan Martin again?"

Shaking her head, Lucy said, "He isn't exactly looking for trouble, but he is incredibly defensive."

"How does that work out for him?" I asked.

"He might end up with another black eye to match the one he already has," Lucy said, after a moment of thought, "but he's definitely an impressive fighter."

We began to go through the typical list of small talk; the weather, what was eaten for lunch, what will be eaten for dinner, how our family's doing, and then it finally got around to my telling her that I was going to join the Featherstones to the Dam to see _Inklings. _

She made a face. "Oh." She said slowly.

"It's that terrible, then?" I placed my elbow on my knee and made a face to match hers.

"Not terrible, I wouldn't say." Lucy said, biting her lip, "It's just incredibly long, and out of all the characters in it, I really only like Jack and Tollers. There's one scene, though, where Jack's wife, Joy, sings a ten minute ballad about the grass."

I exhaled out in a growl. "This is going to be painful, isn't it?" I said, realizing that I had been saying that and thinking that a lot as of late.

Lucy shook her head. "It's not too bad. I saw it last year. It's only that it's—"

"Long." I finished the sentence for her.

Lucy nodded. Then, to my distress, she caught me looking at her. "What is it?"

I did not exactly want to be so insensitive about it, but I supposed that was one of the things I inherited from my father, and it just slipped out, however, I could not finish the question. "Was your mother really a…"

Lucy looked like someone just stuck a dagger into her side, and I did not want to think that that person was me. "Who told you?" she asked quietly.

"I'm sorry," I said, "I shouldn't have said anything."

Exhaling slowly, Lucy said, "Well, people do seem rather interested in that. She was, but I found out myself three years ago, when Father told me. I never saw anything, like some people seem to think I did. All I knew was that men would come into our house, I was to go into the closet—which was my bedroom, and sit quietly until she came and got me. If I didn't, usually I'd be hit by whatever man came into the house that night, but she made sure nothing worse happened to me. We'd have money to eat after that. I never really questioned it. Even when I was taken away, to be put into adoption, I didn't."

I nodded numbly. "I really am sorry," I said. "I shouldn't have asked. I just," I paused, hoping that it made sense, "wanted to hear it from the source, so I wouldn't let any opinion about you be formed through what someone else told me."

"I understand," Lucy said. She paused, and then continued to surprise me by saying, "Thank you."

I blinked. "Why?"

"For not just listening to gossip and asking me about it personally. I've lost more than one friend because of Anne telling them about it."

"I never said Anne told me," I almost gaped. How did she know?

"You didn't have to." Lucy shrugged. "I know her."

We left this conversation at this, and proceeded to make small talk, and I found that I nearly forgot about the conversation before, or that it just did not matter. I could talk with Lucy, and let my real opinions, and real sarcastic remarks show through; where she had come from did not matter. If anything, it made both of us trust the other a little bit more.

It was nearly dark when I met up with Susan back in the house. I had spent almost the whole day talking with Lucy, and it appeared as though my cousin had spent the whole day moving in between various groups of men, as she was flustered and a little moody.

"Did you see Peter today?" Susan asked me as we prepared evening tea together, trying and failing to sound nonchalant.

"No," I shrugged, "I thought he would be in the crowd of men trying to get your attention."

Susan almost let the tea tray slip from under her fingers as I put the cakes on it, "And why on earth would he do that?"

"Because he's probably the only man in Beaversdam who doesn't have to love you, but does regardless. Every other man in this city knows you're beautiful, and want to see what you'll let them do."

"You're terrible," she muttered, and put everything down at the table for us to eat. "Where's Corin?"

I shrugged, "Last I saw him he was chasing after some boy, asking if he wanted to insult you again."

Exhaling sharply, Susan mumbled, "Great. That's just great."

XXXXXXXX

I collapsed onto my bed that evening, feeling the warm dice shift in my fingers, the weighted portion pressing a little more into the skin of my palm. The Knave of Spades lay on the table, as I had exchanged the card up my sleeve for the Queen of Hearts, having an unexplainable feeling that it might be lucky for me, or at least give me enough luck to stay awake during _Inklings _the next day.

Grabbing the letters from my mother off the table, I ripped open the one dated a month ago, since I presumed she wouldn't be sick then. It was a rather simplistic letter, giving me the basics of what she and my father were going to do to try and raise money, Mother said that she was taking three workplaces; out in a field, in a kitchen for a restaurant, and taking care of someone's child while they worked in their lumberyard. They were also working on selling everything; it was everything Father had told me. Mother also apologized for what they were asking of me, and continually asked my forgiveness. Nothing was new, aside for the closing:

"_I wish I could give you your freedom back, but it's all beyond my power now. Please forgive me for not putting a stop to the evils sooner, and for not stopping your father from making you sign the Faustian bargain. Remember, darling, you always have a choice. Do not let anyone else choose for you. You will find a way if you need it. Your mother, Rose Davidman-Martin." _

I could not, at the time, decipher what Mother meant by telling me that I had a choice, when I knew I did not. I had no choice but to do what they were asking of me. There was no way I would be able to do anything else. I also furrowed my brow over what she meant mentioning the Faustian bargain, not knowing that story very well myself. I decided to ask Lucy about it, knowing that it came from a story, and stories seemed to be Lucy's area of expertise.

After some debate inside my head, I ripped open the more recent letter, finding Mother's handwriting scratchier, and generally harder to read, but nevertheless, I set down to read it.

"_Dear Edmund, _

_I didn't want to admit how weak I am, but because it makes me weak to hold the paper still, I think I will have to admit it. I presume that your father told you in his letter that I have fallen ill, and so, I will not go on to explain all of that to you. I am writing, however, to tell you that I do not want you to continue with this madness. I have been thinking about it whenever I am conscious and in my head, and it is wrong and I want you to stop. By not eating very much last month, your father and I can take care of half his debt alone if we sell the house and land, and continue having him work at the rate he does nowadays, it is the interest rate that catches us. I do not want you to pay for this by the rest of your life. I know what it is like to be caught in marriage when the feeling of love passed, and I cannot imagine what it feels like when you were never in love to begin with. It isn't fair to either you or Miss Featherstone. Stop now. We'll find a way." _

I stared at the letter, my mind swarming. I couldn't just drop it, I had to save them; if they sold their house, leaving my deathly ill mother on the street, they would only have enough to pay half, and somehow I doubt Rabadash would settle for half.

Suddenly, and without warning, I grabbed my cloak off of the wall, and next thing I knew, I was on the streets of Beaversdam, the festivities worn down from the day, trash littered the streets, and there were a few drunken people in the gutters and streets, and I didn't make eye contact with them. I simply kept on heading for my destination, the Queen of Hearts inside my sleeve, and I almost smiled to myself, knowing that I would be talking to the Queen of Hearts herself very soon.

**A/N: If my mom asks, I was reading "My Antonia" all day, and just happened to have this written in my notebook and typed up all from last week…xP. For those of you who do not know, I'm in hyperactive mode for reading my summer books for English next year (I know, I know; I'm the one who WANTED to be in Honor's classes…). Because of this, I am kicked off almost every time I'm found on the computer, providing I'm not on Spark Notes. So, I get on YouTube and my email at night and my parents are at meetings and stuff right now, so I had time to type up what was longhand and submit this ditty (sorry for the terrible quality of this chapter; I was rushed.)…other than that, I have no time at all until I get five more novels read. Fun stuff there. **


	10. Lucy

I entered the Featherstones' land the way towards the back that Gael showed me, up the handmade ladder, only just as the sun was beginning to set. I walked silently, exhaling purposely through my mouth, so I could see the cloud escape my lips in the chilled spring air.

As the Pevensies' house came into sight, I found myself stopping in the shade of the wood. Would it seem strange for me to call at their house so late? I had been there later in the night, but then again, I had first come in the afternoon and merely stayed over before. I knew that both of the girls liked me, and Albert, while he seemed a bit strict with the way I was to act around Lucy, seemed to like me enough; however I was unsure about how he would react when I would ask to talk privately with Lucy.

I knew what I wanted to do, even though I had no idea why my first reaction was to tell Lucy about my mother, for some reason, I wanted her to know; I felt like I could tell her and that she would listen to me. Moreover, I wanted someone else to tell me what I should do, or to help me to decide what I should do. For some reason, I felt like that person was supposed to be Lucy.

The window beside the bedroom I knew to be Lucy and Gael's was lit up, so I stayed in the shadows until I couldn't get any closer before entering the ray of light from the lamp on the table beside Lucy's bed. She was sitting facing the wall to the side, giving me a profile view of her. She was unbraiding and brushing out her hair, wearing a nightshift, and I tried not to stare at it's creamy translucent quality. Gael was sleeping on the bed at the far end of the room with her arms around Miriam and with Violet and Helena on the pillow beside her.

I knocked on the window lightly and watched Lucy turn around to face me, her hair slightly curled from having it in braids all day, and even though I somewhat expected her expression to be sleepy, I found her eyes completely aware and bright, but rather confused at the sight of me.

Opening the glass pane, Lucy wrinkled her brow at me. "Edmund?" she asked me, her voice slightly cracking as she said it, "Is something wrong?"

"Do you want to go on a walk?" I asked. "I need to talk to you."

"Of course," she smiled thoughtfully at me. "What about?"

I grimaced, "That's a conversation by itself." I said, rather truthfully.

"I see," Lucy said, "Wait for me around the front, I'll get changed."

I knit my brows, "Are you going to tell Albert?"

"He's sleeping," Lucy took a few steps towards her little chest, which compensated for a wardrobe with her. "I don't think he'd take too well to my waking him up to ask if I could go on a walk."

I nodded, and stole my way around the house, guessing that she was about to change, and even though I knew few things about being a gentleman, I knew that I was supposed to make myself scarce when a girl was about to undrape herself.

Standing by the front of the house, I found myself looking upwards. The sky was in a gray state of dusk, the one that falls right after the twilight's romantic appearance, and right before the dark reaches of the night. The gray clouds matched the sky, and I could barely tell the difference, aside from the softer look the clouds gave from the sky's glasslike quality.

Lucy came out in a blue dress and without a cloak. "Are you going to be all right?" I asked, noting the cold of the spring night.

Lucy nodded, and we started to walk. "What did you want to talk about?"

"Right," I said, far too rushed for comfort, "My mother's sick, it was almost too much for her to write a letter to me. She's been hallucinating, too. My father said that she thinks that I was sold into slavery in Calormen, and that it's my father's fault. She wants me to leave Beaversdam, and probably go back, but I can't." I stopped myself short, not wanting to tell anyone about the bet.

"Why can't you?" Lucy asked me, "If your mother's ill, wouldn't you want to see her?"

"It's complicated," I said, dragging my feet through the grass. "I can't go back, or else Father will…" I drifted off,

not going far enough to tell everything to Lucy; I felt like I could, or even should tell her everything, but something held me back, something kept me silent. "Never mind. I shouldn't bore you with my problems, anyway."

Lucy put her hand on my arm, "It doesn't bore me, and if you want to talk about it, you can tell me, but if you want to keep it to yourself, that's all right, too."

We walked on, throughout the vast land belonging to the Featherstone family; it was rather queer to be out completely alone, not a single gardener or person about at all, it was just Lucy and me, and quite frankly, I liked it.

I found that when our conversations drifted to the most trivial things, it wasn't for the usual reasons; it wasn't merely as a distraction to get me to think of something other than my problems. It was, instead, simply that it was all I wanted to talk about. The larger things no longer seemed to be so devastating, and I almost found myself wondering why any of it mattered, because the way the world worked couldn't possibly be as sadistic as things could make it seem.

We weren't even sure what we were talking about, and I was only saying things to get her blue eyes to spark and get her lips to part into a smile that gave me a sort of high that I hadn't felt ever before. It was such a different kind then the sort from chance and cards. It had the same physical effect, but, perhaps, more intense, sharper, and harder. Every moment and surge of energy was over much too quickly.

"Because I'm probably going to fall asleep during _Inklings_ tomorrow," I said to fill in the silence, "do you mind telling me what it's about?"

Lucy smiled at me, "It isn't that bad. It's about a group of writers, and about their lives and their friendship. It's only so long because there are so many of them, and it follows all of their lives. Let's see, there's Jack, Tollers, Owen, Christopher, Warnie, Roger, Adam, Hugo, Humphrey, Bennett, Cecil, and Nevill. And it also follows Jack's wife Joy, and Tollers's wife, Edith, a bit."

"And all they do is sing?" I asked tightly.

"Well, yes." Lucy admitted. "But, you know, I am rather excited for this. A friend of mine, Tumnus, is playing Tollers, and Lewis is playing Jack…"

"Who?" I asked, blinking.

"Oh! That's right, you don't know him. He moved away a little while ago, but he's come back just for the holiday, to play this part, because he plays it professionally in the east. Anyway, let me see, he's my father's sister's husband's second uncle twice removed."

"How in the world do you remember all of that?" I mumbled, baffled.

Shrugging, Lucy said, "Oh, it's not too hard. If you get the chance to meet him, you'll find that some things about him just stick."

"I know what that's like," I said and, forgetting for a moment that Lucy was adopted, I added, "Is it like that with everyone in your family?"

"I don't know," Lucy said, smiling at me. "What sticks about me?"

"I'm not sure," I scratched my neck, "there's just something about you. You're easy to talk to, and easy to trust, I suppose. I like the way I feel like I do just as much talking as listening when I'm with you. I'm not sure. I don't think there's any one thing that sticks about you; it's just you. You're easy to think about."

Lucy was smiling and exhaling at the same time, I remember, and in the inky blueness of the night, I could have sworn her cheeks looked more red than the usual porcelain color her face. I thought back on what I just said; had I said anything to embarrass her?

When the conversation drifted into nothingness, it wasn't awkward; I actually thought it was nicer. It was as though the entire world and everything when dormant; even the stars although they still glistened brightly in a sky as dark as ink, were sleeping; still as everything else. Everything was unconscious to a new sort of surreal world that belonged exclusively to Lucy and me. It was ours, and there was nothing that would make me want to give it up.

It was getting late, later by the second, and it seemed as though we had only just begun walking, and we were halfway across the Featherstones' land. When I thought about this, I forced a thought into my head. "Featherstone?" I thought, "The name sounds familiar, but I won't place it. I can't place it."

I was trying to make myself forget everything. I thought that if I could forget, maybe everything would become clear, just like when you have a hand of cards that could go with a few different sets and winning hands, but you would need to draw another card to decide on which trick you were going to play.

Thoughts came on coming into the back of my head, thoughts that told me that I was putting my chances in danger, which I silenced by reminding myself that Lucy and I were friends, a thought that was immediately followed by, "Why did I say that? There isn't any other option, it wasn't necessary to clarify the obvious."

As if to bring me out of my thoughts purposely, Lucy stooped downward, and began to unfasten her slippers.

"Erm, Lu?" I said, as I felt like we had gotten close enough for me to use the nickname. "What are you doing?"

"Blisters," she half-grimaced. "I've been walking all day; the festival does that to people."

"I'm sorry!" I said, feeling insensitive. "We could have talked at your house, we didn't have to walk."

"It's all right," Lucy said, standing again, and putting her hand on my arm. "It's more…private, you know? It's easier to talk, and besides, Gael might've woken up from one of her nightmares and needed attention. And, knowing her, once she got over her terror, she would have wanted you. This way you can talk."

"Does Gael have nightmares often?" I asked, and, noticing that Lucy was shivering, and I took off my own cloak and put it around her shoulders.

Lucy nodded solemnly, "Thank you, Edmund. And yes, they're more like night terrors, but yes, she has them often. It doesn't matter if she was happy during the day, she'll still get them sometimes. I can't calm her when she gets like that, it has to be Father, or even Peter, once. She prefers being around men to girls, for some reason."

I cocked my brow. "You suppose she'll be rather popular with them when she gets older?"

She laughed silently, "Maybe; I don't think Father would be terribly happy about that. Say, Edmund? Do you know where we are? I can't see the house," she was referring to the Featherstones' house at this point. "I don't think I've been here before."

As something made me want to seem more masculine at this point, I said, "That's the worst of girls; you can't carry a map in your heads."

Lucy cut in front of me, and put a hand on my chest, stopping me in my tracks, "Maybe my head has something in it."

She was speaking in good humors, but somehow, her hand on my chest made my heart thump so loudly that I was sure she could feel it underneath my doublet. "And what, Miss Pevensie, is in your head?" I asked, taking her hand and starting to walk with her again.

"Well…thoughts, memories, opinions, you know…well, erm, a few equations, and stories, and confusion." She was flustered, and I could have sworn I saw her blushing again.

We walked on, fingers interlocked, pointing out constellations, and talking. Lucy told me more about Albert, who evidentially was adopted twice himself; once by a cruel family, and once by a single mother, who only ever showed him the kindness and loving care of a real mother. He, apparently, swore to himself then, that he would adopt daughters who knew only hardships in their lives before, as soon as he was old enough to do so. He, also, had a sort of sweetheart of the Narnian's Telmarine ambassador's sister, who he only saw a few times a year, so there wasn't much of a chance that Lucy would be getting a new mother soon.

I knew that I was moving into a place that I shouldn't be, not if I was going to ignore my mother and continue with the task at hand, I was moving into the point of no return, although I wouldn't admit it. The thing is, I can be pig-headed, stubborn, impulsive, and even a complete jackass. I like to test things, and I like to see how far I can go; I liked to see how much I could bet. Standing on a precipice was another high, just another thing I liked to try to see what I could get out of life.

Her breath shook, and we walked some more. The night was dark, the stars pulsed silvery white in the velvety sky, and the grass had turned wet from night.

After a few moments of silence, I asked Lucy, "Well, what's your favorite story?"

She lit up immediately, "Well, let me see…it had a sword and a hill, and a knight. But, I don't remember much else…but, oh, it was so amazing. I never wanted to finish reading it."

"Why didn't you read it over again?" I asked simply.

"I wanted to," Lucy said, almost sadly, "but it didn't let me. It was a Magic book, you see. I read it once, and then it was gone."

I wanted to ask where she found a Magic book, but I decided against it. After all, there were some things I wouldn't tell Lucy, so there had to be some things she wouldn't tell me.

Some wolves howled in the distance (not talking wolves, obviously). When we heard them, both Lucy and I walked in closer to each other. I'm not sure why, but in the mask of night, being alone, it had a rather eerie quality to it. I wasn't afraid, but it was unnerving.

"Edmund?" Lucy asked me, in a somewhat small voice, after a while longer of blissful silence, "May I ask you something?"

"I think I'd be insulted if you didn't," I said, taking a queer step forward, reaching over Lucy to hold her slippers for a while in my other hand.

"Thank you," she said to my taking her shoes. "Erm, well, why did you come and see me? Of everyone in Beaversdam, why me?"

This caught me. I was never one to, truly, think of the why, I was always more preoccupied with the what and the who. Either way, I tried to answer. "I think I've already told you. We can talk to each other, and I can trust you, can't I?"

"Of course," she smiled, and her fingers flickered in my hand. "But I'm just so confused."

"You don't have to be," I said, in a moment of losing myself within her blue eyes, and within the dark cape of night.

Lucy smiled, and looked away, soon she began speaking again. "There was a princess," she said, eventually, "who was engaged to a great king of a kingdom over the sea. Before they were married, the king sent his nephew to escort her to his country; he trusted his nephew, because he was a great knight."

My eyes set on Lucy's mouth as she recited this story that she had read over so many times, no doubt, that she had it committed to memory.

She continued: "Before the princess left her own country, her mother had given her maid a love potion to be given to the princess on her wedding night, for fear of the princess living the rest of her life without love. However, somehow the potion was misplaced, and wound up in the mouths of the princess and the knight; and they fell in love."

I nodded, "All right. I think I like this story better than your last one."

Lucy sighed and shrugged. "Well, then the princess had to marry the king. And he, the king, also fell in love with her, but she was in love with the knight, still, and the knight with her. So, they both decided that it is better to love in danger and in secret than to waste away their lives being unloved; and so they started their affair. This lasted years, the princess would sneak away under the castle bridge to be with the knight." She almost blushed at the next detail, almost, but not quite; she probably didn't over-analyze it in the way many people would, "They would make love underneath the hazel and honeysuckle trees. She became pregnant twice, and never knew if the child belonged to her husband, the king, or her lover, the knight."

I scoffed here. "Do all your stories have to do with this?"

"Only the romances," Lucy put in. "Do you want me to finish?"

I nodded, if only to watch her recite it longer and she did go on. "In this time, the king found another wife for the knight. A beautiful girl with the same name as the king's wife. Because it was on the king's orders, the knight did marry the beautiful girl, but kept along with his affair with the princess."

"Why on earth would he do that?" I asked, speaking my mind. "If they're both married to other people, shouldn't they stay with the person they've married?"

"If there's one thing I've learned," Lucy said nervously, "you can't stop it when you feel something for someone. Even if you know you shouldn't." She gulped. "Anyhow, eventually the king learned about the affair between the knight and the princess. He let the princess go; he was in love with her, too. But, for the knight, he was unforgiving. The king, who was normally so kindhearted and noble, grabbed his lance and poisoned it, and then ran it through the knight's stomach, in just the right place so that he would sit dying for days before death would finally take him away. The princess found him and cried over his body until he finally did die. And, while the princess was supposed to be left free, the knight's wife with her own name wouldn't take so kindly to the affair. The night the princess returned, the knight's wife snuck some of the same poison on the lance into the princess's wine, and the same poison took her life as well, only much, much slower." Lucy sighed slowly, "Because the country was not fit without a queen, the king and knight's wife married, and the two murderers lived the rest of their lives happily, never even once thinking of what they had done, except for when they passed the honeysuckle and hazel trees, new ones which grew over where the knight had suffered."

My throat was dry. "That's a terrible story."

Lucy's voice was a mere whisper, "Edmund, I don't want to be the knight; and I don't want to be the princess. It might be better if I stay away." It took me so long to discover what she meant by that. She looked upwards, towards the sky, and gushed, "Oh, no."

"What is it?" I asked, looking after her. And then I noticed it; we had been out all night, as the dawn was approaching. The sky was gray, but definitely light. It was that perfect gray state just before dawn. The time when the world was a clean slate and nothing mattered. We had walked all the way back, and were standing at a point where, just down a hill, you could make out the silhouette of the Pevensies' cabin.

"We should probably be going, long play today, you know." Lucy said slowly, giving me the cloak back and taking back her slippers. "I hope your mother will be all right."

I smiled at her, and then sobered. Our world, the place we had been, was ending, and I didn't know if we would ever return, or if it would be like this if we did.

"Good-bye, Edmund Martin," Lucy half-whispered, and without warning, wrapped her arms around my waist, and tightened her embrace.

The perfect world was ending, my life was on the other side of the sunrise, it was all to confusing. Things were surging through me, adrenaline, I had a high that was fuzzy and sharp at the same time, and before I knew what I was doing, I had craned my head downwards, and my mouth crashed into Lucy's.

Her mouth was warm, her lips smooth and soft; her skin smelled sweet; my hand tangled in her hair. She was shocked, and barely had time to react before it was over. I slowly brought my head back up to my own full height a bit above hers, and exhaled strongly, my heart pounding.

Her eyes were enormous, she was halfway panting, and all she did was look up at me, bewildered, and sigh out, "What?"

"I think it's my turn to be confused," I garbled, gathering myself again.

Lucy was still dazed and had a hand on her cheek. "If we're taking turns being confused, you're going to have to wait a little while for mine to end."

"Maybe we can be confused together." On impulse, I grabbed her hand again, and this time, with my hand on her waist, found my way to her lips again, and this time, she kissed me back.

There's no telling how long it lasted, or what it did to me, but there was more to it than just a simple kiss. There was more going on; everything was reeling, everything stopped, just like in the darkness of night, and everything was sharper and stiffened.

We broke apart again, and I had nothing left to say. All of my gall and bravery had died out with the rising sun. The world was back before it was before the night fell. I was a gambler, and I was trying to marry Anne Featherstone. Everything was back in its place, aside from one detail; I had fallen for Lucy Pevensie. The Knave of Spades was in love with the Queen of Hearts; the card I wasn't supposed to draw.

I stuttered and fell over myself for a moment, before I reacted like a disgusting coward, and the next thing I saw was the street of Beaversdam, heading back towards my house.

**A/N: And so the plot thickens. Anyone want to guess what story Lucy recited to Edmund that night? Clue: I combined three different versions of this story for the one Lucy recited. No idea? Please review anyway! **


	11. Rock Bottom

The Dam was a large dome shaped theater, with an enormous circular stage, and red velvet curtains. There had to be at least three hundred seats, going downward along the aisle until you would reach the stage. I went, as the guest of the Featherstone family, into an expensive-looking balcony with velvet chairs and, even a sofa. Everything was decorated in the Old Narnian style, and if it not for the impending hours of boredom, I could have gotten even a little interested. What did interest me, however, was along the back wall, there was a score of servants, most of them from the house, standing there to celebrate with the play, and to cater to any of Anne's needs, and Lucy was amongst them. I had to suppress a childish urge to wave at her.

Mrs. Featherstone was the first, other than Lucy, to notice my entering the balcony. She had a group of her women friends with her, and once again, Mr. Featherstone was nowhere to be seen. "Edmund, dear. It's wonderful that you could make it."

"You're a bit late," Anne said, tightly.

"Sorry," I said, and unintentionally shooting Lucy a look, to which she looked down at her feet as I spoke. "I was preoccupied almost all night."

Anne's eyebrows furrowed. "And what would you be doing all night, all on your own?"

"Reading." I said the first word that came to mind, and we continued with this sort of conversation until it came time for the opera to start, and I settled into my seat, staring dully at the intricate set of an office area, as the Jack character lamented what was either his life or the lack of decent ink. I was not sure, for the moment the music started, my mind was elsewhere.

Where my mind was, quite frankly, I cannot repeat, as it was in flashes, while I tried to watch the play, I saw some, and then in a dark flash, I saw pale skin, pressed against each other, and the imaginative feeling of lips pressed against each other heatedly. Everything in my head was in black flashes, and I never saw the specifics, but it did not take a genius to figure it out.

By now, at least, all of the actors were on the stage, all trying to sing at once, supposedly a harmony or a round or whatever it's called, and if one had an ear for music, and the attitude to watch the opera with happiness, I suppose it would have sounded heavenly. To me, however, it sounded as though they all needed to learn to take turns. This, of course, only added to my confusion, as I realized that this story was not only being told solely through song, but also in the queer mixture of Old and New Narnian, as I only caught the few words of New Narnian, not speaking Old Narnian myself, aside from the phrase, "Deal me in," and other related phrases.

Even though I tried—and goodness knows I did try, I could not force myself to enjoy the opera, even though Anne, as she sat next to me, seemed to have more joy in her as she watched than I had ever seen in her. She leaned forward as the Warnie and Tollers characters finished their round in remarkably high, vibrating vocals, and she even clasped her hand on my arm and gushed, "Oh, did you hear that? That certainly wasn't a disappointment. It was like gold!"

Anne's enthusiasm might have compelled me to listen for just a while longer, as there must have been something remotely interesting to make someone who was usually so incredibly pessimistic react like that. However, as it was, I was not able to stand it for very long at all, and retreated into my mind. It was not that I disliked theatrics; I thought about it, it was only the sort in the theater that I could not stand.

To me, it made sense. Every time I would enter a tavern, or even lay down any sort of card on a table, I became an actor, as did my opponent. We were forced to feign emotions, personalities, ad even to make up another self to become, for fear of giving something away, for fear of losing everything. The hired actor's doings we so put-on and so flowery that, frankly, it was offensive. This, my tiredness, and the fact that I couldn't tell the difference from marccato and staccato, if there is a difference, prevented me from wanting to come out from my own brain for the rest of the day.

I found myself thinking about Mother's letter, and wondering what I should do about it. On one hand, I could be free, I would not have to give up my life, and perhaps, just perhaps, I could have a bit more than hoping for a repeat of earlier that morning with Lucy. Then hover, the truth caught me; Mother was ill—dying possibly, although I did not allow myself to think about that for very long. There was no possible way Father could raise up all of the money he owed, and I was the only way out. I could not obey my mother and be just. I simply could not.

I considered brining the slavery matter up with the Narnian police, surely they could, in the very least, buy us more time, and take away that stupid pig who was working with the Tarkaan and who wanted to put my family into slavery. Perhaps, if luck was on my side, perhaps the Tarkaan would have some sort of legal issue with the Narnians, and then the Jonathan Martin family would be out of their debt. Then, however, the gambling age reared its head in my mind. At first, I thought that, perhaps, I could live through with a few years in prison, and I knew I had enough of the pain tolerance, and enough of a devil-may-care attitude to live though a brand. However, then again, I reviewed everything in my head, and I hated to admit it, but I would not want to be the chap who has to bring Edmund Douglas Martin to justice.

I thought about how stuffy it was in the theater, and what the inhabitants of Beaversdam who were not who were not in the Dam were up to and envied them. I wondered about the material of the seats, how clouds changed their shape, and if little Gael was up in her tree. Once I mulled over everything from the weather to the price of tea in Telmar, my mind raced to Lucy. The Queen of Hearts and the Knave of Spades, who would have thought of such an unlikely pair? A forbidden fairytale comes into my mind, but I immediately choked that back, out of shock and embarrassment. After all, it was not anything near a star-cross'd romance of one of Lucy's stories; it was not even a romance, really. It was more of a situation with a girl whom I could talk to, felt comfortable with; a girl whom I thought was pretty, and who's teeth I ended up tasting. Nothing more than a friendship, I reassured myself, but if there is one thing you cannot do, it's pull a bluff on yourself. Mother once said that I couldn't live off of cards forever, I thought as the curtains drew to signal the end of act one, and I thought that I was about to understand what she meant by that.

Around a hundred people got up from their seats down below, but the Featherstones stayed put in their seats, and so did I. A group of servants came towards Mrs. Featherstone and her company, and proceeded to ask about refreshments, and even, to my amazement, a more comfortable seat, to which a young woman in a rather delicate condition, and trying to hide it, agreed to a sofa of her own.

Lucy stepped up towards Anne and me, "May I bring you anything, Miss Anne?" she asked, and then added, with a painful nod, "Mr. Martin?"

"We'll both take hot tea," Anne said stiffly. "Seventy percent tea and thirty percent lemon water; and three lumps of sugar on the side along with two lemon wedges. Bring it in on white china, and make sure it's piping hot—_piping_. Oh, and a buttered biscuit for both of us."

However annoying it was to be ordered for, it was somewhat admirable to see a girl know what she wanted to the extent that Anne did; personally, I prefer a female to be a bit more docile, but it would take a fool not to pin this, although not her delivery, to a list of good qualities.

"Everyone's getting breakfast," Anne explained, "There are five intermissions, three of which are long enough for meals, and the other two are just long enough to stand and stretch. Sometimes I think that they time these things out for the worse half. After all, it doesn't take very long to get servants to fetch dinner. It makes the whole thing just so annoying."

While I was inwardly rolling my eyes, I said, "It must be awful to have to deal with that every year."

Anne nodded, and out of the blue, suddenly turned flirtatious, "Well, I don't think it's going to be _so_ terrible this year. You know, sometimes they don't light the torches for every intermission."

My eyes grew wide at her grin, and then I heard Lucy cough to make herself known.

"_What_?" Anne snapped at her handmaid, before seeing the tray Lucy carried, and Anne took a wistful sip of the tea. She scowled, "This isn't hot. It's lukewarm."

Lucy's eyebrows twitched in an irritated way I never saw before. "If you don't want it," she said in a slow, quiet voice, "then you can give it to a stray Labrador bitch. Perhaps she could have some gratitude."

Anne's eyes flashed. "Gratitude? I think you're forgetting your place."

"No, Miss," Lucy looked down at her feet, and I feel absolutely terrible to see her belittled in such a way, I wanted to defend her, and yet, I was put into the side, subdued into sitting away passively, like the bloody coward I was realizing that I was.

It took a moment, but then I noticed Lucy talking to her feet, and when I listened carefully, I was able to make it out when I mumbled, "I'm forgetting why I bother."

When Lucy handed me my tea, I felt a tiny slip of parchment slip into my palm, and I was smart enough to wait until the torches extinguished and the stagehands were flaring the limelights to fold open the note. In the greenish glow, I was able to make out Lucy's scripted penmanship; "_We need to talk. Meet me in the main hall during the intermission after luncheon." _

Acts two and three passed remarkably quickly, since I had tea to sip and a biscuit to gnaw, even though both were chilled by act three's end, it still gave me something to do while trying to sit through Jack's turn from a faithless life, Tollers'sissue with rings, and Warnie's severe case of writer's block. I let my mind wander throughout acts two and four. I couldn't help but think that, perhaps, the play would be far more exciting if they did more than simply sing about their days in the sad cavalry—or was that song about the writer's bad salary? Either way, it was all talk, so to speak, and no action. This bored me.

Intermission came and, as promised, the torches did not light again. This was the shortest intermission, during which Anne both praised and scolded the singing abilities of the actors. She flirted with me a bit, and I flirted back; it was the usual.

Finally, after six more unfathomably boring acts, one which included the ten minute ballad on grass (this was, possibly the highlight of the opera for me, as she was actually doing something while she sang) and a long luncheon intermission, the one arranged after this came along, the one I had been waiting for myself. I made an excuse, making it seem as though I had to relieve myself, and waited in the hall for Lucy.

After the initial clearing of people, the hall was nearly dead. A few people remained, ushers, men smoking tobacco through the translucent curtains marking off the outer doors, and hall to the back stage area. I stood alone and tried not to look suspicious.

It did not take long until Lucy appeared. She looked around at the ushers and others in the hall, and then led me silently to the opposite end of the hall, and directed me to a tall wardrobe. I clambered in after her, and waited for her to shut the door (she left it open a crack), before I whispered to her, "We're in a wardrobe."

"Yes," Lucy nodded, "You aren't claustrophobic, are you?"

"No," I shrugged, "it's just that it looks more suspicious if two people leave a wardrobe together than if they were talking out in the open, that's all."

"I like it in here," Lucy mulled. "The Featherstones donated this old wardrobe. I love the smell of fur, and sometimes I like to think that there's a wood back here."

I thought fur smelt musty, but felt like that was unnecessary detail, and I said, "The only wood here is the back of the wardrobe. Either way, I don't think that's why you wanted to talk to me about. What's wrong?" I pretended that I did not know.

"I need to talk to you about that kiss." Lucy paused, and then added sheepishly, "Both of them, actually."

"I'm sorry," I said, not really meaning it. The night before had given me more adrenaline than anything had in a long time, and Lucy's kiss would give me more things to think about than anything else would.

"All I want to know," Lucy said slowly, "is why you did it. I won't say I'm sorry; but I want the confusion to stop. Why is it that you can be with me one hour, and then the next you're carrying on with Anne was though you hadn't just kissed me? You aren't the sort who would use Anne for her money, but that just makes things even more confusing. It's like you're two different people. I just want to know who Edmund Martin is."

Once she was done, I said, painfully, "Maybe you don't know me as well as you think you do."

She looked torn. "Then," she seemed to be making a habit of talking slowly, "I wish you'd tell me what it is you want."

"What I want doesn't matter," I murmured, not meaning to sound as pathetic as I did, "I don't have a choice."

"I'm not going to pretend to know what's going on," Lucy grabbed my hand. "But you always have a choice, Aslan willing. You just need to think about what you need, before anything."

Lucy stared at me; she bit her lip, dropping my hand. She was so solemn, and she said, "People think that you're only after Anne's money and that you're just trying to see how far you can get physically with me. I don't care what other people say, and I don't believe it. You're not like that; you can't be. I'm not wrong; tell me that I am not wrong. Please."

"Nothing's as simple as that. You're not wrong…but you're not right either. Look, if I could explain, I would. But, I can't. I'm sorry, Lu."

Lucy gave me a fake smile, mumbled something about the intermission probably being over and slunk down into the floor of the wardrobe. Her eyes were dry, but she did look like she was taking a sucker punch to the stomach.

Before I left, I spoke to her once more. "I really am sorry, Lucy."

There was no way that I could focus at all on the rest of the play, but by this point, most of it was over, and most of the audience had gone home, not wanting to sit all day. I envied them far too much.

Outside the Dam, Anne was talking to me. "Oh, well, it wasn't terrible. It was far better last year."

"Sorry," I said, monosyllabically.

"What's wrong with you?" Anne put her arms across her chest. "You're acting awfully odd. If you didn't like it, you don't have to take it out on me. It isn't like I forced you to come."

"I didn't see how I could say no," I said.

"Look, Edmund." Anne faced me, cocking her eyebrow. "Since you're obviously not into this, you might not like the ball we're hosting tomorrow, and so, you don't have to come. I mean, I wouldn't want you to have to sit through more things that cause you boredom. But, do remember, if you don't show up, it doesn't count as infidelity if another boy fills up my dance card."

When I came home that evening, after the entire day at the opera, I found Susan sitting on the sofa, looking over a game of dominoes, and chewing on some sort of custard-filled tart.

I sat down across from her. "I think I'm possibly the biggest ass ever since the discovery of testosterone."

Susan looked up at me, with her tart halfway in her mouth. After swallowing, she said to me, "What did you do this time?"

"Well, I said uneasily, "You remember that I didn't come back until this morning?"

"Of course," Susan said. "But, that is rather typical for you, isn't it?"

"I suppose so," I flashed my eyes to the ceiling. "Well, I went to the Pevensies' house, and I walked around with Lucy all night, and well, I kissed her. Twice."

Susan shut her eyes, and her voice was low. "Edmund. Are you trying to send your parents into slavery? Or are you just completely distracted by pretty things?"

"If you want to, you can call me an idiot. I know I am."

"No more of an idiot than all the rest of your gender. I think it comes with being male." Susan put aside her dominoes and gave me a half smile.

"Su," I put the joke aside, "I need your help. I don't know what to do."

"What do you want me to do? Talk to Lucy? That's a brilliant idea, 'So, Lucy, I am so sorry that my idiot cousin kissed you and is making you fall for him, considering he's trying to marry Anne.' If I talked to Anne, it would only be worse. 'Say, Anne, you know that your beau, Edmund, has been spending a lot of time with Lucy, and he's kissed her, he doesn't even really like you; but he needs your father's money to save his family from slavery. So, you should just marry him, anyhow.' What do you want me to say?"

I saw her point. I wanted to throw my head into my hands, but I had enough composure not to. "I've hit rock bottom, haven't I?"

Susan put her hand over mine, and said, "Maybe that's where you need to get to."


	12. Feeling Ill

I felt sick the next day, and I slept passed noon. When I woke up, I did not make any effort to get up, I simply shuffled my cards in between my fingers, and remained on my back, the ceiling never looked so interesting. Feeling as though I would vomit at any attempt of movement, I barely shifted from one side to another, or from lying on my back to lying on my stomach. I felt hot and weak, and the air in my room felt like the sharp breeze of winter.

Before I was even aware what I was thinking, I found myself making up stories in my head. Stories vaguely similar to the ones Lucy had told or read to me, with changes, mostly regarding the way the characters acted, which, in a turn that I didn't expect, really affected the turn out of these stories, so they turned out completely different. I faded in and out of consciousness all day, the difference between sleep and awake was too subtle for me, and I was unable to tell when I was dreaming opposed to when I was thinking.

The day was almost over by the time Susan came barging into my room, holding a somewhat fancy doublet, and a pair of tights. "Come on," she ripped the sheets off my legs. "You have a ball to go to."

Childishly, I turned onto my stomach, mumbling. "I don't want to. And you aren't my mother."

"Maybe not," Susan threw the clothes at me. "However, I had a thought last night. You have three months left to get the money, and, you know, I think this is going to be your undoing. But, you're family, and I won't walk out on you."

She had a somewhat sentimental tone to her, and so I sat up in bed, and said, "How come you didn't leave the city with your parents in the first place?"

Susan looked stern, almost. "No one told you before?" she lowered her eyebrow. "I wasn't allowed to go to the east with them. They were trying to get me married to Peter."

"Why were they pushing it?" I asked, considering my aunt and uncle were not very forceful, Susan had her own reign of things, and so this surprised me.

"People started talking." For once, I saw Susan almost break down, as she sat next to me. "And someone saw me leaving the shop very early in the morning, suspected the worst, and began to talk. The next thing I knew, my own mother was asking me if I was having a baby."

"And so your parents wanted you to marry Peter to save the reputations all around," I said. "Did you ever actually do anything to warrant the rumors?"

"Of course not." Susan stood up. "I have more sense than that."

"I think you're lying," I said, meaning to be instigating, wanting nothing more than to be let alone and to fall asleep again.

She glowered at me. "You've been with a girl all night twice before, and does that mean anything happened?"

"I can't say I've never thought about it." I was not measuring, meaning, or thinking about what I was saying, finding my eyelids heavy and my pillow inviting.

Susan said, "Edmund, you are running out of time. You aren't looking at this logically." She became more gentle, and said, "You haven't even brought up marriage at all, you know it will take a month to get everything together. I know you like the challenge; I know you like the chase, but you need to do all of this now. You need to propose to Anne, tonight, at the ball."

My stomach dropped. "Well, erm, I've never even met Mr. Featherstone before…how can I propose when I haven't asked yet?" At this point, I realized that I was making excuses.

"If you ask her," Susan said, "she'll make sure her you have an audience with Mr. Featherstone. Now, put these on, and hurry up."

"Where did these come from?" I asked, as these clothes having a completely different style than the sort that Susan usually gave me for these sorts of situations.

"They're Corin's," Susan said absently, standing up, "As he's in Archenland for a while, his brother's getting married to a Tarkheena or something, I don't think he'll mind. Now, hurry up and get dressed."

She walked out of my room, and by the time she was at the door, I felt rather bad for what I had selfishly said, just because I wanted to sleep more. I did not deserve anything, I realized. "Su?" I called after her. "Thank you for all your help. I owe you."

"I've seen too much of what happens when people owe others things." Susan said to me gently, letting the door swing behind her.

XXXXXXXXX

I arrived late to the ball, to see the room floating in the air, everyone in their brightly colored ball gowns or their overly extravagant doublets and tights. The music sent the room bright and flowing, with the cheerful band leading it all. There were so many people in the room, the last ball seemed like nothing at all. Out of the few people I knew, I saw Marjorie in the center with a dance card on her wrist, muddling through the steps with a modestly embarrassed look on her face with Peter leading her through it. Susan was in a corner, her own dance card filled by the second. Almost all of the servants in service to the Featherstone family were present, some dancing with one another in the hallways where none of the actual guests were, and others taking turns passing out refreshments and others to the guests. Of course, there was one servant who was not there, and possibly the only one who would not be welcome at the party anyhow.

I made my way over to the second largest crowd, as the largest was entirely male and surrounding my own cousin, where I knew Anne would be standing. She saw me and shot me a half smile. "Edmund, it looks like you finally decided to show up. Have you been _reading_ again?"

I shot my eyebrow upwards. Something in the way she said 'reading' made me think that she knew something; that she knew something that I didn't want her to. "Not exactly," I said, nonetheless.

"Well, you shouldn't have been so late, there's nothing left on my dance card." Anne held the little card off a string on her wrist, flaunting the fact to me that there were many other men in the city who would like to be in my place, and that I'd do well to remember it.

I looked closer at the card, and three dances remained blank. She really was trying to make her point, now wasn't she? It made me wonder if she knew about my infidelity, and I wondered if she knew that I was not feeling guilty about it.

"I'm sorry," I said, "I shouldn't have been so late."

Anne nodded, and was about to be taking off by some other chap, most likely the one from before she mentioned who was charming, handsome, and nearly twice my size, when she called over her shoulder. "Oh, and Edmund? Father wants to talk to you tonight. When they stop with dinner, so stay inside, all right? Someone will be sent to find you."

I nodded, and went to sit at one of the tables where some of the elderly, injured, or tired people were supposed to sit during the dancing. I thumbed through the several cards I stuck up my sleeve and watched the way the dancing of everyone all seemed to go together and in time to the music, as though it everyone planned it ahead of time.

"Hullo, Edmund." I heard a young voice sound from behind me.

"Gael?" I turned and saw the little girl scoot into a chair beside me. "I didn't expect to see you here."

She smiled. "I'm usually allowed to go to the parties. Mrs. Featherstone likes me, Father thinks, and if it were up to her, I wouldn't have to be alone all day. But, most of the time I don't go to the balls, because I don't want Lucy to feel lonely like I do, but she said that she wanted me to go to this one."

I nodded. "That was nice of her."

"Lucy usually is nice," Gael said, leaning on her elbows watching some of the dancers in the center of the room. "You know something, Edmund? It seems like no one ever seems to like someone else in the same way."

"Why? What do you mean? What are you getting it? How'd you come up with that?" I felt in the wrong, felt accused, accused of not holding the same feelings for either of the parties who, evidentially, were interested in me.

"Well, I was thinking," Gael looked at me in her matter-of-fact way. "And I decided that I love Peter. However, Peter doesn't love me. He loves Susan, and I don't think she loves anybody in that way right now. It's not very fair." Then, she got a distant look in her eyes, and said in a voice that sounded old for her age, "Oh, to be young and to feel love's keen sting."

Unwillingly, I started to laugh. "Could you repeat that, just once?"

"Repeat what?"

"'To to feel love's keen sting' or something like that? Where on earth did that come from?" I asked, still laughing, that is, until I looked to the far corner of the ballroom, and saw something that made any acid in my stomach wanted to come up my throat again.

There, all the way across the room, was Susan, dancing far too happily in a waltz-like form with an all too familiar man with a sharp, dark, Calormene face. There was no way I could forget that face, or the beady eyes; it was Tarkaan Rabadash, the reason my parents were in danger of being sold away.

"Gael, I have to go and do something, all right? Enjoy the rest of the party," I said numbly, maybe I never even said anything at all. All I knew, was that I set off across the ballroom, my jaw set, and was three quarters of the way there when I realized that I could never do anything about it. Not only would wrenching that ass away from my cousin by force cause a stir, and probably get Susan angry with me, but I would probably lose all chance I had with getting Anne, and with the reason I was here, more or less, in front of me, it took over my mind, and it was suddenly more important than events of late had made it seem.

Peter was nearby, handing Marjorie to the next partner signed on her dance card, and so I grabbed his arm and said to him, in a voice that, I hope, commanded the utmost urgency. "Peter, I need you to go and cut in with Susan's dance partner."

Peter's brow furrowed. "Why?"

"Do you see that Calormene she's dancing with? You'll have to go on trust with this, but he isn't someone that Susan should be associating with."

Grimly, Peter murmured, "She looks happy enough."

"Believe me, he's the sort of person who would be absolutely fine ruining lives, destroying lives even, just so long as he gets what he wants. The last thing I want is for Susan to become one of those things he wants—who knows where she could find herself," for once I found my thoughts not centered on my problem, but worrying entirely about Susan's well being. "If you care for her at all, you'll cut in with her, and prevent her from seeing Tarkaan Rabadash ever again."

"Don't think that I don't care about Susan," Peter's face turned stony. "Is he dangerous?"

I frowned. "He has a whip. I'd hate to think of him trying to use it with Susan because she won't do things for him. I wouldn't put the cad above it."

Peter nodded to me, before saying, "I don't even want to think about where you know this man from," but nonetheless walked over, tapped Rabadash on the shoulder, and obviously asked politely if he could cut in.

I watched the pantomime from afar; I saw Rabadash's face grow cloudy, Peter's eyes keep that almost regal look to them, and Susan's confused, annoyed, but ever-proper gaze darting between the two men in her presence. The Tarkaan looked mad as fire, but almost whiny as he must have been demanding to see Peter's signature on Susan's dance card, from his gestures, and Peter keep his perfect composure. Frankly, if it weren't such a pressing situation, I would have found it rather amusing.

As Rabadash passed, I grabbed onto his arm, and made sure I latched on tightly.

He rebelled immediately. "Unhand me, you filth! May the bolt of Tash strike you down where you stand, you horrid dog!"

I lowered a brow, to show that he did not intimidate me. "I have a business arrangement with you." I said dryly.

The Tarkaan squinted at me. "You're that stupid boy whose father owes me the money. You have it, I presume. Give it to me. I want my money."

"No," I said, crossing my arms, and pretended to know precisely what I was talking about, even though I was only pretending, and throwing around large words and sophisticated phrases to sound smart; a trade I learned from Susan. "I'll pay the amount Jonathan Martin owes you at the end of the time, but your interest rate, while it isn't correct if you do the equations, is absurd, and cannot be paid."

The Tarkaan grew purple, which, I assume, is the dark version of turning red. "Then your whole family shall rot!"

I hadn't the foggiest idea what I was talking about, however, the theory sounded decent. "As long as we're in Narnia, you cannot take us away into Calormen for slavery, and if you take us there by force, we can have you charged as kidnappers."

"And who would make the charge?" The Tarkaan said, with a hideous sneer.

My reply came so easily, "My cousin, Susan Martin."

I wished I could have seen his reaction, but just as I spoke, a faun with bristly brown hair came to my side. "Mr. Edmund Martin? Mr. Featherstone wishes to see you."

I nodded gruffly, and mustering up all the courage I had within my chest, I followed the faun's quick little steps that tap-tapped on the stone floors. It took us awhile, going through hallways with servants dancing themselves, some of the darker corridors which housed courting couples rather comfortably wrapped into single armchairs, or stuffed into corners, or even beginning to wrestle into more private rooms.

It took around five minutes to shuffle through corridors; through parts of the house I had never been, before I was face to face with a large ebony door, with a rather lovely carving of a garden scene on it. I let myself through the doors, and stepped into a smoky smelling room, brightly lit with a cheery fire, and lavishly furnished. In the center of the room stood a man who, for all other purposes, would have been very fat if it were not for his impressive height. He had curly golden hair with a rather impressive moustache, and wore clothes that could have probably relieved my father's whole debt if they were sold. This was, by inference, Mr. Featherstone.

Mr. Featherstone eyed me, and I saw the friendly green flash in them. "You're the boy that's taken my Anne's heart, eh? Well, come in, come in, my boy, and don't lurk in doorways. Sit down."

I obliged, and soon found myself sitting on one of the most comfortable velvet sofas I had ever sat in before, or since, wondering how this could be Anne's father, and then, it soon didn't seem so far-fetched. "I do apologize for the furniture's quality, those dwarf-people who make them, they haven't given me the new sofas I ordered. I do hate having company with this sort of surroundings. Oh, well, there is nothing I can do about that now. Would you like something to drink, then? Some wine, perhaps?"

He was certainly warmer than Anne ever was while complaining about the quality of things, I would give him that. I shook my head. "No, thank you, sir." I said, feeling uncomfortable all the same, rather wishing for the familiarity of Albert Pevensie, "I don't drink."

"You don't drink? Why, I've never heard of a boy in their first year of being able to drink publicly not doing so by choice. A wise choice it is, however. I hope you don't mind if I have a glass, myself."

"Not at all," I said, my hands awkwardly resting on my knees.

"Well, I supposed I shouldn't mince matters with you, Edmund." Mr. Featherstone said, standing at his full height and making me feel like a dwarf next to a giant. "My daughter has had many suitors, as I'm sure you know, or have presumed, but never before has her relationship with a boy ever lasted as long, or meant as much to her as her relationship with you has. She says that there have been rumors of you wishing to take the relationship further, possibly to an altar, but that you're too much of a gentleman to do so without permission. This being said, I have heard a lot about you, and from what I heard, I have few objections, and if Annie is satisfied, that's what matters to her mother and to me. What I want to know is, if you do actually wish to take it further."

I nodded, starting to feel jittery, uneasy, and just up front nervous. "I was, really, waiting on an audience with you, to make sure I wasn't getting ahead of myself."

"That's all good, my boy." Mr. Featherstone nodded. "I know you don't drink, but there is very little I do know, other than what Anne has told me. What of your own parents? Why don't you live there, with them?"

"Well, sir," I stumbled, wondering exactly what I should tell him, "My mother's terribly ill right now, and my parents sent me to live with Susan around that time."

"I am sorry about your mother," Mr. Featherstone said, not sounding as though he really was, but what was I to expect? Anne had to get it from somewhere.

"Sir," I said, mustering up the courage, and stupidity I had left in me, while I still thought it was something that I could go through, while I was in the state, what with seeing Rabadash earlier, where it still seemed like a sort of game that could be won. "I would like to ask you for permission to propose to your daughter. You don't have to answer straightaway, but would you consider it?"

Just as I spoke, a face came into my head, a pretty face with blue eyes that obviously hid away many wonderful stories and folklore inside of them; a face that had her name wrapped up inside of it, for the light that emanated off of it was obvious; it was Lucy's face, and immediately I was disgusted with myself, and with what I had just asked.

Mr. Featherstone thought on it for a moment, took a sip of his wine, which he had begun drinking at the beginning of the conversation. Then he said, "I will think about it, but understand that it is a rather large decision, and I'd hate to throw this around without a vast amount of thought; it would be handing over my only daughter."

Suddenly, without warning, I felt my stomach lurch and jolt; I felt bile come up and burn the back of my throat. Quickly asking if I could take my leave, I was continently situated with my head in a plant by the time the stomach acids actually lurched out. I felt sick, terribly sick, and worse than I had in a very, very long time.

When I arrived home that night, shortly after my vomiting episode, I was quick to discover that I was alone in the house. Susan, if I was lucky, was out with Peter. I wondered for a quick moment if the rumor that drove my aunt and uncle away from Beaversdam in the first place wasn't going to come back to haunt Susan that night. I had no doubts that she and Peter never did anything to warrant the rumors; Peter was too noble—this quality almost got annoying about him, and Susan was too sensible for either of them to do something to warrant what others said, but one cannot stop the flow of gossip, or so I have discovered.

Being alone in a house like ours was a queer thing, there were so many windows, and so many creaky floorboards, that one would jump at the sound of just about anything. I did not like it; it made me feel venerable, and alone. I wondered for a moment, just before my head hit my pillow once more, if this was at all near what little Gael felt like during her episodes. I would learn far more about her episodes nearly a month later, when I was in Beaversdam for four months straight.


	13. Noose

**/!\ This chapter contains a scary moment/somewhat disturbing imagery and some violence. Reader's discretion is advised. **

As springtime came to a close, I was at the remarkable state of disbelief at the state of the rumors. I knew that spring was supposed to be a bit of a lusty season, but evidentially more so in Beaversdam when it came to a close. No one could walk through the streets without some sort of lewd rumor behind them. Once again, Susan and Peter were a popular topic of conversation, now that they were romantically out in the open again; something happened at the night of the ball, I was not there, and as far as I' m concerned, was not involved, so I don't want to know the specifics. I blocked my ears to all of the gossip Anne informed me about so-and-so's wife being caught and so-and-so's husband's house late at night, or about who was courting whom and all of those things that, quite frankly, bore me to death.

Unfortunately, there were some rumors, which I truly could not ignore. There were rumors stating how physical I had gotten with Anne, all of these were untrue, as it made me nervous to even think about what sort of relationship we would have had if I had even begun to do anything, and honestly, it would have made my sanity leave me. There were also rumors about my relationship with Lucy, and these made me nervous, because most of them were, more or less, true. I did sneak out late to see Lucy, yes, I was in the Pevensies' cabin quite frequently (although the reasons for these visits were often because of Gael). However, I still did not see the problem in what I was doing.

The problem, honestly, seemed to be rooted more so in other people. I tried to follow Susan's example and stick my nose up to it, but somehow, I found it interesting in a dangerous way. If anything, the shop got more customers, as two of Beaversdam's most famous (or infamous, depending on your viewpoint,) Casanovas of the moment worked.

I was used to working a lot more by this time, so even though I had indeed stayed up very late the night before, reading a copy of a fairy-story which Lucy had leant me, I was used to working while being outlandishly tired. The story, by the way, was about a girl, who turned out was a princess, who thought she had fallen in love with her brother, who was really only a fisherman's son; who ended up doing all these insane tasks for the spoiled little witch to earn her love; once again, a love story which I disagreed with immensely. I had only read it for the gambling echoes that bounded throughout that version, but I digress.

I was busily sorting out the candy jars, although grimacing a little as it came to the Turkish delight, in a rather happy mood as the bell above the door chimed loudly. In a sudden moment, I felt as if something was going terribly wrong, and that I had to do something. "Peter?" I called, already halfway out the door, "May I take my lunch now?"

"It's seven in the morning!" Peter said, before realizing that I had gone, and calling out after me to turn back.

I could not, exactly, be prided on my intuition, I wouldn't say it's good, but something was definitely wrong, and I did follow my instinct, which led me directly to the Pevensies' house. I felt like it would be better to run, as though some golden voice was telling me to go faster, or it would be too late.

_Or it would be too late. _

I didn't have time to mull over what that meant, for I was flying, without question, across the land and gardens, not thinking, just running. By the time I reached the Pevensies' house, I hesitated at the door, thinking to knock. Then the golden voice came to my head again, telling me to keep going.

_Now! _

I turned the knob and rushed in the house, with an image to greet me in my nightmares forever onward facing me. "Gael! What are you doing? Get _down from there!" _

I was swearing in my head as I ran to grab that little girl off from the stool on which she stood, only centimeters away from a rope tied in a knot that I didn't want to admit was a noose. She had tear stains on her face, and she looked like she hadn't done anything since she woke up, even though her day clothes were folded on the floor, and she was in nothing but the thinnest layer of undergarments. Moreover, the little girl was rubbing her neck with her hand, in the other, she held a dagger, so that if the rope didn't finish it for her; she would.

"Stop it!" Gael cried as I tried to take her off the stool, and it tipped over. She had nothing to grab onto but the noose, which immediately shrunk at her bodyweight, and gave her hand a rather professional-looking rope burn. "I don't want you to touch me!"

"What's the matter with you?" I almost screamed, still in shock from what I had seen, but sounding a little like Susan.

"Are you mad at me?" Gael looked a little like a mouse, tiny and scared.

"I don't really know." I said, after a moment. "But, what happened to you to make you feel like you didn't have a way out, all of a sudden?"

"I was alone again," Gael said, in a small voice. "I was in that barn again, and the rats wouldn't even keep me company. I was hungry and I was thirsty. I was so sad. I wanted it to go away."

"Does this look like a barn to you?" I gestured around the room. "Gael, this is your home."

"I didn't think about it," Gael admitted. "I was just sad, like the sun would never come up again; like I went to drink water, and it was dry water. Nothing's right."

"What about your father, and Lucy, and Peter, and me?" I asked, adrenaline still pumping, my mind still willing to get rid of what I had just seen, "Did you think about how it would affect us, if you actually did it?"

Gael's lower lip started trembling. "No. You're not mad at me, are you?" She stepped forward, with her arms outstretched, wanting to embrace me. "Don't be mad at me, Edmund. It makes me feel terrible when people are mad at me."

I had cooled off from the initial shock, and now I was at the point of wondering what exactly compelled her to try to commit suicide. "Gael, was that all there was to it? You were lonely, and sad? That was it?"

She shook her head. "I thought I was in the barn again. I saw it, too. The empty stalls were over there, there was a hole in the roof there—I would get water when it rained, and put it into the trough that was right there. I was alone. No one ever came to get me. Nobody cared. Nobody loved me. But, then you came, and once I fell, I realized that I was back at home again."

I blinked at her.

"I'm not in my head," Gael announced suddenly. "That's why they left me. Because I get sad on days, and because my moods jump around. Also because I get such terrible nightmares; they thought I was a witch, or batty, or both. Am I crazy, Edmund?"

"No," I said, sighing. "You're just a six-year-old girl who has had too many horrors happen to her."

"Seven," Gael announced solemnly. "I turned seven a week ago."

When Albert came home that night, I told him about what I had seen Gael attempt to do, and he shut his eyes, and almost collapsed. "In the name of the Emperor," he whispered. "I could have come home tonight and found my daughter hanging from the ceiling."

I sighed uneasily and shot a look at Gael, who was at this point, slumbering sadly on the cushions. Albert continued.

"I have you to thank for her life."

Feeling suddenly awkward, I shrugged. "I'm not a hero, Albert, and I don't try to be. It was just a case of raw luck and being in the right place in the right time."

"Regardless," Albert put up his hand to silence me, his eyes were glazed, and he looked far away. He began to chatter to himself, "I can't let this go on any longer. I'll have to take Gael with me when I go and mark the new grounds. And then, I think it's about time both Gael and Lucy have a new mother."

I let him work out his thoughts aloud, as I could only imagine what Albert must be going through inside his head at that moment. When he was done, I asked, "Do you know exactly what Gael has? Does it have a name?"

Albert had buried his head in his hands, and he said, "Yes, they call it bipolar mania disorder. They refused to tell me very much about it, but I think you've seen what it's like. Do you think that I'm a complete failure as a father?" Albert asked, after a moment of silence. "Gael's tried to kill herself, and something's been off about Lucy for the longest time."

"No," I said, definitely. "Not at all. You want what's best for your girls. I am sure that there are some fathers who wouldn't even notice any of it."

Albert picked up his brows, and said father miserably, "I feel sorry for that father's children."

"So do I, Albert," I said. "So do I."

Lucy was mortified when she learned about what her sister had tried to do, and rightly so, but when she tried to comfort Gael the same day the little girl was upset, Gael only pushed her sister away, and went on to sulk in silence about her own misery, not seeing what misery it put on Lucy when she reacted that way.

In learning about what happened with Gael, I was not in trouble for missing another day of work, in fact, Peter took it somewhat easier on me for the next few days, and a good thing too, for I was feeling so bothered by the idiots around the city, that I was feeling almost as impulsively aggressive as Corin when the rumors started to circulate.

Half of Beaversdam knew, within a week's time, that Gael Pevensie had tried to kill herself, but alleged motivations spread like wildfire. The fact that she had an emotional disorder, and was simply so miserable that she thought there was no way out wasn't good enough for some of the citizens of Beaversdam, and this set my blood into a boil. If I were a different sort of boy, I would have up and hit anyone who said anything about it.

What was strange, was that Gael's emotional state made time go around in a queer way. When she was in a happy mood, it made it seem almost impossible that she would do anything close to what I had seen. She would go off about her dolls, or Peter, or anything really, and it would seem like years had passed since the day I had seen her with the rope, but then, when she was in a bad mood, it made it seem like it had only happened that morning.

What happened that day, however, continued to disturb me, even to the point of it affecting my demeanor and making Gael certain that I was angry with her, which made for a rather interesting conversation with Lucy.

"She cries about it," Lucy told me, in confidence one evening. "She told me last night that she's so terrified that you aren't friends anymore."

"I didn't mean to make her feel so badly," I said. "It was terrible, though. I didn't know what to do, and now, I can't make myself not think about it. I don't like it."

"You didn't do anything wrong at all." Lucy took my hand.

Albert, from his seat at the dining table, would have cut in, but simply sent a look between Lucy and me, before going back to his supper. In the week or so that passed, I had become, more or less, a member of the Pevensie family, always allowed me through their doors, and it felt as though I very well was, in fact, a part of their queer, unrelated, but even more warm than most families tied together through blood. Albert was like a cousin or an uncle, Gael was like a little sister, and while I had no idea what Lucy was, my time spent with her always felt too brief, and I always wished that I could have had more, even when the stances of our relationship changed.

I knew that Lucy was Anne's maid, but I had taken it for granted completely, that they actually must have spent quite a bit of time together. I was under a very wrong impression that I could have both of my lives separate. I realized that the thought of becoming a different Edmund was wrong, considering that while I could, perhaps, become a different sort of boy, but I was bound to one body, and one life, I could not mix them.

This being said, I was unaware that Lucy had been told of my treachery to her, through my conversation with Mr. Featherstone, and was therefore confused with the way she no longer seemed completely comfortable with me; and this bothered me.

I was leaving the house one day, and when all Lucy gave me was a clumsy handshake, and stuttered over her good-byes. I could not help but feel as though something was missing from the scenario.

"Can I come back tomorrow?" I asked, perhaps too eagerly, but it did not matter at the time, as I wanted to get behind what had changed between Lucy and me. After all, even though I really had no idea what I was doing, or even what I was thinking, I did know that I wanted to get familiar with her again.

"That isn't a very good idea," Lucy mumbled, exhaling slowly. "Father won't be in, he's going to be looking over some of the new land Mr. Featherstone bought for the up-coming hunting season, he's taking Gael, too; we're so worried about her; we don't want to leave her alone until we get more figured out. You and me; we'd be alone."

"That's never been a problem before," I said, realizing that I quite liked being alone with Lucy.

"Anne knows," Lucy said in a low voice. "She knows that we're friends, and she knows about my feelings for you."

"And what are those?" I asked, rather playfully.

She twitched her eyebrow upwards, "Don't you already know? But, by the Lion, you're, more or less, engaged! What do you want from me?"

"I don't know." I said, and then suddenly corrected myself, "No. I do know. What I want from you, if you want to know, is you. Wait—I didn't mean for it to sound like that! I can't say it…I can't tell you."

"Why?" If I wasn't paying absolute attention, I wouldn't have noticed that her eyes were glimmering more so than normal. "Tell me. If it's a personal matter, I wouldn't have pressed you before, but I'm involved now. I think I love you, but why are you doing all of this? When you look at me, do you see her, or is it the opposite? Or, not even that, just, tell me why! Look," her face was somber, "you can't have both of us. You know that, don't you?"

"I know," I mumbled. "I don't want _both_ of you." It took me awhile to realize what I sounded like I was saying, and I could have slapped myself in the face.

"What?" Lucy whispered, mortified, thinking the worst, and clinging onto the wood of the door, almost scratching it with her fingernails. "Ed, who don't you want?"

It was then I said the stupidest thing I had ever said before. "I can't talk about it. I'm sorry."

Lucy's face dropped severely. "Go away," she said, her eyes welling up with tears. "Just go away."

I found the wood of the door in my face shortly after that. I was left reviewing what I had said, what it looked like, and with nothing else to call out but, "I'm sorry! I didn't mean it like that!"

XXXXXXXXX

I was walking through town the next day, shuffling my feet, and thinking about what a true idiot I was, wasting time until I had to be at work again from my evening shift, not quite in the mood to return to the Featherstones' house, and even in less of a mood to talk with Anne.

Lucy had told me the night before that I was more or less engaged, this was one of the many things that bothered me throughout the day, the other being my own idiocy. How could I have possibly have said something that could be so easily misinterpreted for me being the sort of son of a Witch whose motivations for spending time with girls were less than honorable.

"Edmund!" A familiar voice rang from behind me, and I turned around to see Corin, who recently came back from his visit to his father. To say he looked angry was a vast understatement; he was mad as fire.

"What's going on—argh!" The next thing I knew I was flat on my back, the sharp pain racking my body, blood pouring out of my nose. Out of surprise, and anger that I was just up and knocked off my feet in the middle of the city, I shot out, "What the _hell_?"

Corin stood over me, apparently not noticing that a large crowd of passersby was forming around us, someone called out for the police. "What have you done to Lucy?"

"What do you care?" I souted, coming back to my feet.

Corin put his fists up. "Lucy happens to be my friend."

"She's my friend, too." I said, holding out my hands, palms out, not wanting to fight. I knew that, if it was necessary, I could put up a fight, but against someone like Corin, there was no way I could win.

"Doesn't seem like it. Not after what she's told me." Corin lurched his fists forward again, "Did you really think that you could get away with it, you traitor?"

On the ground, I kicked up one of my legs, and aimed to hit Corin's diaphragm, but ended up kicking a little lower, which gave me enough time to get on my feet. I heard the distinctive cracking the next time he boxed my nose, and I could smell and taste the river of blood already. I seized Corin's shoulders and only managed to knock him down, after taking two more blows to the stomach. I was already battered, black, and blue; not to mention the blood pouring out of my nostrils. Everything hurt more than you could possibly imagine.

I started wrestle Corin on the ground, and actually ended up dislocating his arm in this time before someone threw a slipper at us, meaning to break up the fight. The reason for our brawl ended up stopping it.

"Stop it!" Lucy screamed, just at the same moment the police came into eyeshot. She was, perhaps, even more furious than Corin was when he first came and knocked me down. Her face was pale, and her features contorted in fury. I hated seeing it, as she shouted. "I can't believe either one of you! That's the absolute worst of doing anything with boys! You're all such swaggering, bullying idiots!"

"Lucy! Wait!" I called after her, as she disappeared, walking forcefully, with purpose, and without a slipper.

Corin grabbed my sleeve as I began to chase after Lucy. "Look what you did. Now she hates me, too."

"You're the one who up and boxed me in the middle of the street." I accused.

He got distracted, momentarily, and then muttered, "We're dead."

"What?" I blinked, and then something occurred to me, "Weren't the police coming?"

"Our executioner is dealing with them." Corin said numbly.

I realized what he meant, for in the middle of the square, Susan and Peter were rapidly talking with a centaur, who appeared in charge of the police who had come rather late. Susan had her arms folded on her chest, and had her mouth moving faster than I had ever seen it, Peter nodded and put in comments with his regal way.

I groaned, and as anticipated I was to sit through a rather intense lecture. Susan went to talk with Corin on his floor, and Peter went into my bedroom with me.

I sat down guiltily. "Let me hear it," I mumbled, pressing a handkerchief to my nose to stop the bleeding.

Peter had an incredibly straight face. "I'm not going to try and discipline you. That's not my place, but I do think you should be aware of what people say about you—you and Lucy in particular."

"I know what people say," I exhaled loudly. "I just don't see why I should care about that."

"Usually, it doesn't matter," Peter said, sitting next to me. "But, here's the issue, it's affecting the way other people see Lucy. If you care about her the way that she seems to think you do, you would care about her reputation."

That was a good point, and so I kept silent. Peter continued on from there. "And, honestly, she's been pretty broken since yesterday, which is what I'm pretty sure your brawl with Corin was about in the first place. That's a bit more important to you, isn't it?"

I nodded, and slipped my dice into my hands, and sifted them between my two hands. "I was an idiot and made her think that I didn't want her. I've never felt so horrible before."

"I know you and Susan think you have it figured out, but you need to tell her."

"How do you know?" My voice was dumbstruck, but sounded rather queer from the handkerchief pressed to my nose.

"I figured it out myself for the most part," Peter frowned. "And then Susan filled in what I didn't know. You need to tell her, for her sake."

With the handkerchief still pressed to my nostrils, I collapsed backwards onto my mattress, and sighed. Too much had happened in the last few days, and I didn't want anything else to happen for the rest of my life. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that, as far as that went, Lady Luck would not be on my side.

**A/N: So…I'm sorry if this chapter was rushed. It seemed like it to me, but since I'm going to my grandma's house and I'm not sure if I'll have Internet there to update. Please, please, please revoew!**


	14. No Self Control

**/!\ This chapter contains risqué material that it aimed for an older audience (but nothing above a T). Reader's discretion is advised, again. **

The sky was green and stormy smelling, thunder cracked in the high clouds, and lightning lit up the sky every few minutes, showing me the heavy thunderheads in the sky. I stood in front of the familiar wooden door, and for the first time since my early visits to the Pevensies, I did more than simply think about knocking. I saw Lucy go by the window to check and see who it was. I prepared for the door to remain shut in my face. Lucy opened the door, and stood there in her nightshift, with a solemn look on her face. "Is something wrong?"

"I need to talk to you," I said, hearing rumbling thunder in the emerald sky behind me. "I know what happened the last time I said that; but I can be in and out in five minutes. I swear."

The thunder rumbled again, a low, loud growl. Lucy nodded and let me in, swiping through her hair, and putting it onto one shoulder, leaving her neck bare.

Before I was inside the house entirely, I was already speaking. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for fighting with Corin, and I am sorry for hurting you. I wasn't thinking, I wasn't clear with what I was saying, and I," I almost laughed out of contempt for myself. "I ended up looking pretty stupid."

Lucy was already seated on the cushions, and I went to join her. "I don't understand," she said. "What were you trying to say?"

I sighed, but ended up surprised with how easily the words rolled off my tongue. "When I said that I didn't want both of you, I meant that I didn't want…I didn't want her. If I had the choice, it'd be you."

She stared at me. "What? What are you saying? You asked Mr. Featherstone if you could marry _her_. Why would you do that if you wanted me?"

I exhaled, and by whatever urge of total blind faith, I spoke slowly. "Do you know how much someone could lose from a game of poker in one night?"

Lucy wrinkled her brow. "Not really," she said. "I only ever play with Gael, and Father won't let us to bet anything…not that I'd really want to, it's rather terrible, and I always lose."

"Well, I do," I said, shaking my head, trying to suppress the worst of the memories. "You can lose everything; your savings, your house, everything you own. And, if you play your cards wrong, you can lose your freedom, as well."

"I don't understand." Puzzlement was etched onto Lucy's face.

Before I knew what I was doing, I had told Lucy everything. Four months of secrecy were blown away as if the last dry autumn leaves skirting about the grass. Nothing was the same, in less than three hours, everything I had tried so hard to keep secret, was out in the open air, between Lucy and me.

When I finished my life's story, Lucy sat numbly in her seat. "Well," she murmured. "That explains quite a bit. What are you going to do?"

"I don't know," I said, leaning onto my hands behind me. "Is it selfish that I just don't want to go through with it anymore? Even though it will keep my parents out of slavery? Does it make me less of a person, just because all I am thinking about is the fact that all I want to forget about everything. I want to forget about the debt, and gambling, and Mother's sickness, and everything. I just want to forget…but I can't."

"Edmund," Lucy said, holding my hand, "I know what it's like to want to forget things. You've been through so much, and I don't know what it's like with yours, but things have been hard for the both of us. You didn't need to keep it a secret for so long."

I half-smiled at her, "Thanks," I said, feeling inwardly terrible for unloading all of my problems onto her, even though she barely asked to complain about hers.

It was then that I realized how bad the weather had gotten. Rain poured down the window as though we were right below a great waterfall, and thunder crashed and shook, with lightning only a second before it, lighting up the sky. I sighed. I stood, saying, "Do you have a hat or something I could borrow to keep the rain off me?"

Lucy stood right after me. "You can't go home in this weather, you'll get hurt."

Blinking, I said, "And what do you suggest?"

"You'll have to stay the night, I suppose. Is something the matter? You're blushing," she obviously didn't get what sort of thing staying the night usually entailed. "Here, I'll get some blankets off of Gael's bed."

I followed her into the bedroom, and such a strange transition it was. The main room was orange and glowing, but this room was blue, chilled, and oddly damp. I noticed that the window was open, and Lucy was struggling to get it closed, becoming rather drenched in the process.

I rushed over to help her, the window was surely jammed, water pouring onto the both of us, partially blinding me, and no matter how much we tried, it scarcely budged. "Stubborn little bugger," I muttered under my breath.

Just as I spoke, the window seemed to have heard, because it suddenly lurched shut, and Lucy and I were sent tumbling to the ground, looking as though we were just swimming in the Eastern Sea, laughing as if it were the funniest thing in the world. She slicked her hair back against her head and neck, and wrung it out, creating a large puddle on the floor between us.

After we sobered, I realized that something was starting to bother me. "Lu? Can I ask you something?" I waited for her nod, and went on, "Do you ever just get angry?"

She blinked at me. "Of course. Everyone gets angry. I was angry earlier today, if you hadn't noticed."

"No, not about that," I sighed. "Do you ever just get angry with fate for making you born the way you were? To who you were born to?"

"I used to be, sometimes ," Lucy said, getting a far off look in her eyes. "But, then I realized that if I couldn't handle it, Aslan would come and help me, I know he would."

"But you're from Ettinsmoor and Archenland." I said.

"I know, but that doesn't matter. Aslan isn't exclusive to Narnia, Edmund. And, besides, if I wasn't born the where I was, I wouldn't have Father or Gael, and I'd never have met you. I think it's better this way, really. And, even if it's not, it's the way it's supposed to be. I don't think I'd like it any other way."

I grimaced, but in a second, a thought appeared in my brain, "Can I ask you something else? To do something, really."

She nodded, "Sure, what is it?"

It was now that I realized that the water had turned her nightshift transparent, and I began to stutter and lose myself, more nervous than I had ever been, I was certain that her affect on me was becoming apparent in all the ways it shouldn't be. I found my face turn red, "Never mind," I mumbled. "It's stupid."

"No, what is it?" Lucy said, her hand on mine, "It's not stupid, whatever it is."

"Well," I began talking fast, "I was going to ask you to, just this once, help me forget everything that I have to go though. Help me fool myself into thinking that I could be happy. That I could have you. And—"

I never got to finish my sentence, because in that moment, Lucy's lips were over mine. The touch was so innocent, it was seducing in its own right, no matter how contradicting that may seem; I cannot truly explain it.

We stared at each other, Lucy and I, I looked into her azure eyes. I had thought it before, but she was, as I noticed, beautiful. I had always thought her pretty, but it was still a relatively new term for me to refer to her as beautiful, but there was no better word for it in any language; English, Old or New Narnian. Being completely drenched, I noticed the water drip over my brow and off my jaw line, and, I couldn't help but notice, that Lucy's nightshift was rather thin. After staring at her for what seemed like days, I grabbed onto her waist and leaned in closer to her. We had our lips together; only hot air in the middle.

We broke apart, just staring at one another; the air suddenly warm between us, my hands suddenly on her arms and on her waist.

"How many girls have you fallen in love with in your life?" Lucy asked me, her face solemn.

"One," I answered.

"What's her name?" By this time, both of our voices were breathy, possibly because of the buzzing in my brain.

"Lucy." After I spoke, I froze, stomach coming up from my throat, I had a feeling where this could go, and somehow, was unable to think about my actions before I had already done them; it was as though I lost control completely, and was a slave to my own impulses.

My lips went downward and caressed Lucy's neck, only a brief touch to the hot skin, when she let out such a high giggle that I took my head back up in line with the rest of my body, smiling like a Cheshire all the while.

She was scarlet. "Don't laugh at me," she uttered out, borderline humiliated. "Edmund?"

"What is it?" I was ready to come crashing down, but whatever control I had left kept me above her, just for the moment.

Lucy bit her lip, and gave out another weak giggle, before she whispered, "I feel so strange."

"So do I,' I said, in the same gruff whisper. After a moment, I asked her, "Are you scared?"

"I don't think so," she mumbled, and then laughed softly in her throat. "I've never felt like this before. But, I like it." She laughed in the breathy way she had been. "I love you," she said.

I answered honestly, "I love you, too."

In a moment, my tongue met hers; I had never kissed someone like that before; not that deep, or passionate, but somehow, I just knew what to do. The room had become quite a bit warmer, and the noise of the rain pelting against the window was drowned out to the sound of heavy breathing and the thunder quieted any soft moaning coming out of either of our throats. How quickly a situation could turn from innocence to liability baffled me to no end, and by the time I came to a full realization of what I was doing, it was already done.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

I woke up early, before the day had even seemed to begun, the rain had stopped, but the sky was black. I tightened my grip on Lucy's waist and as I went to bury my face in her hair, I realized that she was awake. "Good morning, Lu," I said, tightening my grip around her beautiful, slim waist.

"It's one," she said softly, and rather monosyllabically, as though she were exhausted.

"In the morning," I finished for her, unquestionably, trying to get a laugh out of her, but only getting a little smile, I said, "What's wrong? Did I hurt you?"

"No, no," she said, turning around to face me, putting her arms around my waist. "I'm just tired. I haven't slept."

"Why not?" I asked, putting the blanket higher around our shoulders, I noticed that her hair was tousled, but not snarled or tangled, and I ran my hand through it.

"I don't want to wake up," she said, and I did not understand what she meant.

"Shut your eyes, love," I said. "Just sleep. Sleep and I'll be here when you wake up, I promise."

What had happened earlier that night, I lost my self-control and there was no turning back. I felt vindicated in some ways, and yet wrong all the same. My mind was reeling, and there was no way to rationalize everything I was going through in my head, but I knew one thing, all the same, I had to find another way out. I could never go through what was planned after that; I wouldn't be able to live with myself. What sort of man would dare and marry another when he was already with the one he loved? One sort of man who would do this, I supposed, was a sort of traitor and a sort of ass too terrible for those words to be apt for it.

With that, I had begun thinking of alternate ways I could save my family, running away, turning Rabadash in to the police was one, which I did not wish to go into, but if it were the only way, I would do it. I would figure something else. I had to.

I must have fallen asleep, because I woke up to the sunlight streaming in through the window and the soft rustling of book pages. Looking around, I found that Lucy was reading next to me, the book up in the air as she laid flat on her back. I smiled at the thought, of course she was reading.

"Did you sleep?" I asked, with pretend authority.

"Yes, it was nice," she smiled, and shivers came up my spine, and I noticed she went back to her reading.

Finding a game in this, I started running my fingers through her hair and my mouth found its way to her neck, and she straightened her back. "Ed!" she laughed nervously. "I can't read with you doing that."

"Maybe I think you read too much," I said, propping up my head on my hand. "Or maybe I want to ask you something really important."

Clamping the book shut, Lucy turned her head to face me, "And what might that be?"

"I didn't say that I had anything to ask, I said maybe." I smiled impishly, and watched her laugh. "I love you,"

She smiled. "Would you say that again for me?"

I intertwined my fingers with hers, and I whispered into her ears, "Lucy Pevensie, I love you."

"Once more? Please?" she bit her lip and kissed my knuckles.

I blinked at her, "What's your name again?"

Pretending to hit me across my chest, Lucy said, "Well that wasn't very nice of you."

"Oh, let's just make it Pax," I sat up on the mattress. "Do you know what the time is?"

"Seven, I think, or around there. Why?"

I exhaled sharply. I was late for work, but it no longer seemed to matter. I no longer cared whether I kept my job, as all I wanted to do was remain with Lucy.

As I was frying crude-looking hotcakes over the fire, about fifteen minutes later, Lucy came out with a basket full of the once white, stained bedclothes.

"Do you want some help with those?" I asked.

Lucy jostled the basket away from me, "No. I can take care of it."

I gave her a toothy grin, "Are you nervous? Lu, I laid on those sheets all night."

She was red. "I know but still it's strange, I usually take care of my own laundry."

"Is that seriously what you're nervous about?" I blinked, curious as to her thinking.

Lucy nodded, numbly, "What should I be nervous about? Oh. Right." Her eyes glazed over, "Did you mean it?"

"Mean what?" I asked, skillfully taking the basket from her hands and putting it on the ground.

"When you said you loved me," she held her head up. "We can't take this back, and I need to know that you meant it. I don't know what I'm even thinking. We were wrong, weren't we? We shouldn't have—I love you, but we were wrong. Weren't we?"

"I know," I whispered. "But I'm ready to take responsibility. I'll do anything, and we'll make it. I swear to you, Lucy, no matter what, I'll think of something. And it won't be our downfall."

Lucy bit her lip, "You don't have to do everything on your own. You've been forced to go alone ever since the beginning, and maybe that's why things have gone the way they have."

"We didn't see any other way out."

"What if you still can't?" Lucy looked at me with her extraordinarily solemn eyes.

"Then," I tripped over my tongue, "I'll do what I can to save my mother. But I should not be responsible for the sins of my father."

"But you don't want him to suffer forever because of one mistake, do you?"

"No, but if it costs you anything; quite frankly, I'll let him do as he will; no father of mine."

"Oh, Edmund. Dear, sweetheart. You know you would never leave your father out in the cold like that. You're too kindhearted for any of that."

I sighed, "I'll do what it takes."

**A/N: Okay, I feel like I need to explain myself. After reading a bit about psychology, I've come to the conclusion that Edmund would continue to trick himself, pretend he's in control, and think he knows what he's doing, unless something huge happened. This is that huge thing. Well, please review and tell me what you thought of this chapter. **


	15. The Martin Family

After kissing Lucy goodbye one last time, or perhaps a three or four last times, I walked discreetly as possible through the streets of Beaversdam, feeling as though every single passerby knew my name, and knew precisely what I had done less than twelve hours before. Feeling as though people thought badly of me did not bother me in the slightest, but feeling as though they were saying bad things about Lucy made me upset; even though I knew they were not.

I could not help but think about her, Lucy took over the front, back, and both sides of my brain, it was as though there was a string inside of the both of us, connecting us. I was in love with her, and I very well knew it. However, I also knew what a problem it was that I felt that way and that I had to put a stop to it.

Perhaps, I thought, I could try to create a disguise and win the money in a few games of poker, I wouldn't even fool myself, I knew I couldn't win it all in one night, but I knew that I had to try, after all I promised Lucy that I would.

I walked briskly and with my head down, not wanting to accidentally run into Peter, Susan, Corin, or in the worst-case scenario Anne. By the time I reached the house, I was prepared to collapse into my bed immediately, let Susan or anyone else who stood in my way leave Narnia forever.

Entering the house, I was about to make my sharp turn into my room, however what greeted me the second I walked through the door made me freeze in my tracks.

"Hello, son." My father said, standing up from his seat, looking thin and dirty.

My face fell. "Where's Mother?" I asked.

"She's sleeping," Father said, stepping to the side, revealing my mother lying, pale and sickly on the sofa. "And, well, she's no better than she was when I wrote you."

Susan came in with a washbasin and a rag. "Edmund," she said, her brow shaking, seeming to both ask me where I had been and to say something compassionate.

"Why are you here?" I asked Father, expecting the worst.

"We sold the house," My father said heavily, "and we needed a place to stay. Now, while we wait for your mother to wake up, how have you been doing in the city?"

"Right," I said. "About that, I can't go through with it. I won't do it. I promised Lucy."

Both Father and Susan looked at me and said in unison, but in very different tones, "What?"

"I won't do it," I said, keeping my chin out. "I can't go through with the marriage you want me to."

My father just stared at me, but Susan spoke. "Edmund, you weren't with Lucy last night, were you?" My furious blush when she asked me if I with Lucy, even though she did not mean it the way I was, told her the answer. "Edmund! You weren't supposed to—"

"Do you really think that I don't know what I'm supposed to do or not to do? Do you think that I care anymore? I'm not doing it, Susan. I'm not going through with it. No one can make me!" I was nearly in hysterics.

Father's face dropped. "And are you just going to sell away your mother and your father? The people who raised you?"

"Yes," I said, defiantly, and frankly, it felt rather good. Then I came crashing into reality. "Actually, it's the last thing I want to, but I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I have to hurt Lucy."

"Who is this Lucy person?" Father asked, but he was ignored.

Susan closed her eyes. "You've fallen in love with her, haven't you?"

"I have," Something gave me the gall to talk like this, "and I can't do anything to hurt her. I can't and I won't."

"And so you'll abandon your parents?" My father looked furious.

I inhaled, and for once, forgot all of my obligations, simply knowing that I had to have the opportunity to be with Lucy. "You're too dependent on me, Father. I've tried, but in trying, I put myself into situations I can't get out of. And, actually, I don't want to. Mother told me not to, and I think, for once, I'm going to respect her."

"She's out of her mind, Edmund!" Father exclaimed, "She doesn't think straight! Do you understand what you're saying? I am going to be sold into slavery; your mother is going to die! Can you live with yourself knowing that? Don't you ever think of what other people are going to be affected by the things you do? Even once?"

I was silent. I didn't know how to respond, but my father continued his rants and his raves. He even still continued until Susan threw up her hands in exasperation and stood up and, to my surprise, walked directly out of the room, coming back with a large wooden box.

"Won't you just shut up, Uncle Jon?" she said, muttering strange curses under her breath. "What would you say if I told you that I knew something that you both didn't?"

I stared at her, and so did my father. "What are you talking about, Su?" I asked.

"It sounds stupid to say it," Susan said, "but I know something that you don't know. If you'll both keep your heads on until Aunt Rose wakes up, I can fill you in on some of it. Edmund, you remember that I got a letter the same time you got all of yours?"

I nodded, "Of course." I still didn't see what it had to do with anything, but I waited.

"Well," she began to explain, "in the letter Aunt Rose told me that she had been keeping a rather large fraction of everything she's earned ever since she married Uncle Jon. She kept it in the _Banque di Narni _and, well, she's been asking me to put some of my own money into it, and recently I took it out, with written permission from Aunt Rose."

She opened the box, and as I looked down into it, I saw all of the coins, and I couldn't help but let my lips spread into a wide grin. My first reaction was to fling my arms around my cousin, and hug her, but I didn't.

My father's eyes narrowed. "This can't possibly be enough."

"It should be," Susan looked at him down her nose. "You sold your house, with that it should be just enough."

"Perhaps," Father said, thin lipped. "But I haven't weighed it all yet."

Susan rolled her eyes. "Did you even go through all of that trying to save yourself? Or were you only counting on Edmund to make everything better by destroying his own life, so that you could lose everything that you earned in attempt to buy yourself a nicer living? Of course, in that case, you would lose everything and only end up becoming a complete leech off of your own son and his pathetic excuse of a wife you picked out for him!"

My father almost raised his arm, but seemed to remember that he could not simply hit everyone who said something that he did not want to hear. Instead, he looked at the slip of paper that my mother used to allow Susan to take all of the money out of my mother's account. "This is only signed Rose Davidman. Why didn't she change it to Rose Martin?"

Susan's mouth went straight. She then said in a low voice, "Wake up, Uncle Jon."

As my father sat down numbly, Susan took me into my room. "All right, what in the world did you do last night?"

"Why do you want to know that?" I turned around and sat on my bed.

"You mentioned Lucy within two minutes of entering the house, you were away all night, and your doublet's on backwards." Susan had the same rock-hard look on her face that she got when she decided to act like an over-protective mother.

I looked down at my own chest, she was telling the truth. I tried harder than anything to keep the blood from rushing to my cheeks. "Oh, would you look at that." I muttered.

"Edmund! Don't you take anything seriously? You've made two girls fall in love with you, and whichever way you go, someone is going to end up hurt. I'm afraid that it's going to be Lucy." Susan had her hands on her waist.

"It isn't going to be," I said, not even understanding what she meant by someone was going to get hurt, whichever way I went. "It can't be her getting hurt; I won't let it."

"Look," Susan went onto the balls of her feet, to gain the advantage to intimidate me. "I don't want to know what you did with or to Lucy last night, it's not my place, and it's none of my business. I just need to tell you that your mother saved you when it came to the money. If you can't tell, you don't owe anything anymore. But it's only just begun. I can't help you anymore, and you're entering a place with nothing but raw female emotion, and no poker face is going to be able to save you. You have to choose between breaking Anne's heart, or breaking Lucy. And either one can destroy you. "

"What do you mean? It can _destroy_ me?" I asked, curious beyond explanation.

"If you break Lucy, yes, that probably seems like hell for you, I understand." She was oddly gentle with me, like she was trying to get me to get to some epiphany. "And, of course, it would tear you apart to tear Lucy apart like that, but it might leave her worse off in the long run than it would have if you choose Anne. You're between a rock and a hard place, to put it lightly."

"What do you mean that it would be worse for Lucy in the long run?" I felt like a broken record, but I would not help but wonder what she meant.

"Anne can be extremely devious," Susan's face was grave. "If you choose Lucy, undoubtedly she'll be fired, but Anne can also convince her father to fire Albert, which would leave the Pevensies on the street. Not only that, but Anne would probably make it spread all over the city that Lucy is a complete trull. Then, Lucy's next job may just be cleaning for some sick old man who will take advantage of her, she may be strong, but no one can put very much of a fight up when you have a knife pressed to your throat. Don't look at me like that, it happened before."

I had half a mind to ask who it happened to, but I knew that Susan was being honest, and I had the feeling that I didn't want to know exactly who, because I may have met her before. "What am I supposed to do, Su?" I half pleaded.

"I don't know," Susan said, and for the first time I realized how spread thin she appeared. "I can't do anything else, it's up to you. You have to decide, and you only have a little while to decide."

I sighed as I realized that my life had become the same sort of tale of the stories Lucy read to me, and I had become the same sort of male character that I hated.

XXXXXXX

My mother woke up in the early evening, and, to my surprise, the first thing she did was ask for me. "Is my baby boy here?" she called out in her scratchy sickened voice.

"I'm right here," I crouched down beside the sofa to look at my mother; she was pale, thin, and gaunt, looking as though she hadn't slept in weeks. "Are you feeling better?"

"I wanted," She coughed weakly, "I wanted to ask you to forgive me for never taking a real say in your life. I should have never allowed you to gamble, even for the first time. I waited by and I," it sounded like her lungs were composed of sandpaper, "I was too late in trying to be a mother to you. Please forgive me."

"Oh, come on, Mother," I tried to bluff, but found I could not, at least not successfully. "There's bound to be a lot of things where you'll get a say in my life."

Mother smiled weakly. "So, what's her name?" To my face, she said, "You're not the boy who left my house, you've grown up, and you have the same look in your eyes that your father had when he first fell in love with me. What is she like?"

"Her name's Lucy," I said. "And she's… I just don't know how to describe her."

"She sounds lovely," Mother held her handkerchief to her mouth as she coughed. "Do you like her family?"

I nodded. "Her father's like an uncle to me, and her little sister is unpredictable as weather, but just as important. And Lucy, well, she's the world to me."

"I think I like her," Mother closed her eyes, but continued talking on choppy breath. "I know I do."

"You'll have to meet her," I tried to keep my voice uplifted, but once again, I failed.

Father took my place beside the sofa in the last few minutes, and was talking in a desperate voice I had never heard before. "Stop talking like that, Rosie. You're going to be all right, and you know it. Rosie, don't do this to me, damn it."

"Jon," Mother said, struggling to stay awake, but putting a hand on Father's cheek. "We have been to hell and back together, I have been your wife for sixteen years, and I have loved you the whole time. But you're selfish, and you're proud. We both know I'm not going to make it."

"Don't say that!" Father made his voice forceful, as though he could change things. "You're going to get better, Rosie. And then, we're going to move to the east, like I promised you when we first got married, and we're going to live in a nice house, and I'll never touch another card in my life. I swear. Just don't talk like that, Rosie."

"I never thought for one second that we were going to do any of that." Mother shifted her weight on the sofa. "I knew what you ailed from, however, I didn't know how bad it was, nor that you would give the same ailment to my son. I didn't care at the time, I only wanted you, Jon. I'm running out of time, please, just don't pretend that things are all right, we both know that they aren't."

That night everything that had happened hit me like a ton of bricks. I had stupidly taken Lucy's innocence, my mother was dying, and there was absolutely no way that I could get out of any of this unscathed. There were no winning cards, and no way I could win. This wasn't anything close to a game, and it had taken me this long to realize it. With my blood in a boil, I curled my fingers into a hard fist, and with all my strength, I forced my fist into the wall. It broke the skin, and burned, when I looked at my hand, I found that my knuckles were covered in blood.


	16. Breaking it Off

Never before had I been so nervous waiting in the Featherstones' sitting room. I had thought it through, and I figured that I could somehow break it off with Anne, not letting her think that I was leaving her for her maid, but blame it all on me, and claim that I wasn't ready for the speed of our relationship, and then literally leave the city for a while. With this, I wouldn't have to wake up to Anne every morning, and I wouldn't hurt Lucy any more than I had to. It seemed like a risky business, but I had always gotten out of risky matters unscathed before, and I didn't see how I couldn't manage this time.

As always, I had my cards up my sleeve, but I had burned the Queen of Diamonds card the night before, and I somehow felt as though the incomplete deck might actually reverse my luck, which was the opposite of my intention, which I had worked out in frustration. I tried to take this thought out of my head, after all, a real man was supposed to make his own luck, but I had depended on it for so long, I wondered if I still had the ability to.

A thought pricked my brain, and even as I tried to shake it away, the possibility had infected the part of me that was thinking straight. Over and over, I couldn't help but wonder what would happen if all of my luck reversed entirely. The worst-case scenario would be what Susan had described to me a few weeks before, and I knew that I would do anything to prevent that from happening.

I had, for quite a while, disappeared to anyone whose surname wasn't either Martin or Wolfsbane. Day in and day out I would be at the house, watching Mother's condition temporarily get better, only to be smothered down to barely alive. It was a rather hellish experience, but what else was I supposed to do? She was my mother.

Susan took the role of sympathetic hostess; she made the meals that often went uneaten, cleaned up after my parents regularly, and took care of bedding. When Peter came around to visit us, we all swept him up in the whirlwind, which was the failure of my family, and he gladly helped Susan with these duties of the host. Mother, when she was awake, mumbled something about wondering how long it was going to take for Susan to get a ring. This comment woke me up; it reminded me that there was something that I had to do.

Sitting in the Featherstones' house, the same hall I always waited in, I mulled over what I was supposed to say, I had it planned certainly, and I thought I knew everything, when Lucy came into the room, and for the first time, I started to see what the suggestion of heartbreak looked like.

"What are you doing here?" she asked me, her brows furrowed.

I stood up, and quietly took her into a room off to the side. "Lu," I said, in an oddly breathy voice, "you look nice."

"Thank you," Lucy shot me a half smile, which faded almost instantly. "Where have you been? I haven't seen you in two weeks."

"Has it been that long?" I almost yelped, nervous for whatever reason. "I'm sorry, love. My parents came to the city and it's been rather hectic."

"Oh!" It looked as though a wave of relief washed over her, and then she grew solemn again. "How is your mother doing?"

"She's still alive," I admitted, sighing. "I hate seeing her looking like that, though."

Putting her hand on my shoulder, Lucy said, "I'm sorry. I wish I would be more helpful."

There was a subtle uneasiness in our conversation; I hated it. After all we had been through, shouldn't the opposite effect take place? After everything, why was a simple conversation awkward? I shook it off, and grasped her hand.

"Things are going to be coming around," I told her, my breath half-wanting to up and tell her everything, but my mind held still, as I first wanted to alleviate the unease before getting to the crunching matters. "You'll see."

Lucy's brow crinkled as she asked, "What do you suppose will happen to your mother?"

Shaking my head, I said, "I don't know. It's possibly over-exhaustion added to some other physical ailment, but I don't know."

"How long does she have?"

"Don't know," I spoke speedily, not thinking about much, or even wanting to think at all. "But let's not talk about that, I don't want to think about it, honestly."

"Of course," I felt her hand give mine a squeeze. "I'm sorry."

I shrugged, feeling as though I should do something, but unsure exactly what it was, and so I repeated myself. "Things are going to be coming around, I'm sure of it. You and me, we'll make it."

Lucy's only response to this was her beautiful, bright grin. I pulled her in towards me, and giving in to my impulse yet again, I kissed her. I had done this before, and I remembered every single time, but it never faded, the feelings were still as new as early morning snowfalls in December.

"Do you know how much I miss you," I said, still breathing her air, "when I wake up in the morning and you aren't there?"

"I've only ever been there when you woke up once." She blushed. "But, things do seem to be quite a bit lonelier, don't they?"

I opened my mouth to speak, but then I noticed Lucy look behind me, eyes as large as saucers; and I had a feeling what she saw. It felt as though my heart stopped beating; the room swayed beneath me, and time stopped all together, and it wasn't in a pleasant way. At the door, Anne stood, and if looks could kill, Lucy would have dropped where she stood.

Anne walked towards us, slowly with her arms knit against her chest. She was fuming, and her eyes locked on Lucy. When she reached her, with every person involved pulse racing, her hand flew out, faking out hitting Lucy, while spitting out, "You little _slut." _

I stepped in front of Lucy, who was standing with her chin out, either way. "Don't talk to her like that," I said.

Anne blinked at me. "Excuse me? What are you saying?" She shook her head, perhaps shaking away her thoughts quite literally, and turned to Lucy. "You're fired. And you have two weeks to pack up and leave my father's land. I never want to see your pathetic face again. What are you waiting for? Get out!"

I made to leave with Lucy, perhaps to show my stance on the matter without saying anything, but Anne grabbed my arm as I passed her. "And where are you going? You have a bit of explaining to do, don't you think? I wouldn't expect any less from my fiancé." I felt my own eyes widen, and Anne continued. "Oh, that's right. You don't know yet. My father said that we could get married. You would have known that sooner if you stopped by to visit me, instead of her."

I was stupefied, if only for a moment. Turning to Lucy, I stammered incoherently, nothing coming out of my lips.

She bit her lip, nervous in a rather heart wrenching way. "Edmund, look, maybe I really should go."

"No, Lu!" I, more or less, cried. "You can't."

Lucy scrunched her face, blinking away tears welling up behind her eyes. "You need to save your family. There should be another way, but if there isn't…I don't want to cause everything to go wrong. I'm sorry—good-bye, Edmund Martin."

"Wait! You don't understand!" I called out, but to no avail. Lucy was already gone.

Anne came up next to me, and turned my shoulder to stand before me. "So, Edmund," she said, her voice syrupy before it turned hot, "tell me, I'm interested, exactly how long have you been sleeping with her?"

"What makes you think that I've been sleeping with her?" I asked, using every bluffing skill I knew.

Anne's eyes went hard as stone. "Don't insult my intelligence. Do you assume that I'm so stupid? I told you," she was beginning to pace around herself. "I warned you that she would try to seduce you. And then you let her! Or did you go after her after that? Is it some sort of aphrodisiac for you? Why won't you answer me, damn it?"

I chewed on the inside of my cheek. "Lucy's nothing like that. She didn't try to seduce me or anything like that. She's innocent."

"Didn't I tell you not to insult my intelligence?" Anne snapped, and then went on to say quietly, and in a hurt voice added. "Out of all the girls in Narnia, you had to throw yourself on her. Of course."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I wrinkled my own brow.

"It means," Anne turned around and was getting louder by the second. "It means that even though I trusted you not to do anything of the sort, you went ahead and did it." She folded her arms close together on her chest. "Honestly. What does she have that I don't? She's just a servant! Why then, is it that everyone—Marjorie, Susan, and even you, prefer her to me?"

I was going to answer, but Anne was continually ranting and raving, I wasn't able to tell, really, on what exactly, as she was talking so quickly and so incoherently. I was able to make out the last bit, however. "Really, is it too much to ask for a little fidelity from my fiancé?"

Eventually, I up and interrupted her. "Anne, I'm not going to marry you. Forget it."

For once, Anne remained silent, and for the first time, I saw something like tears build up, making her eyes reflective. For the first time, I came to the stunning realization that Anne, while she wasn't at all pleasant, was human, and had feelings just like anyone else, and a heart that just got broken.

"I'll show myself out," I said, and turned around, hoping to cut through their lawn and make things clear with Lucy again, when something stopped me.

"No, don't show yourself out," Anne's breath was shaky, and I was stunned to find sympathy welling up in my chest. "Edmund, besides the fidelity issue, and that can be worked out, I still want to marry you."

I turned, and despite myself, I said, "You do? Why?"

"You're something different, you stuck around. More importantly, I've found that you would actually make a decent husband; that and I do like you. A lot. Look, you're nervous—that's all. Most men get this way before they get married, my parents warned me. Of course, it doesn't help that you had that temptress hanging off you, but that's all her, and not you. You're _nervous._ Think about it, you wouldn't have asked permission to marry me if you didn't really want to."

"I'm not going to marry you," I said, repeatedly, however hoping that she wouldn't break down and cry, even though I knew that she wasn't the sort.

"You're nervous!" Anne insisted, obviously not used to rejection. "And you're confused. You don't know what you're saying. I'll give you a week to come around, because, face it, I can't wait forever, and you don't even deserve to get this second chance."

"Anne," I insisted. "I'm not going to marry you. I suppose this is the last time I'll talk to you, so, erm, good-bye."

As I walked off, Anne's voice screeched out, desperate was the best word to pin to it, "Don't you think you at least owe me an explanation? What have I done to deserve this?"

Something compelled me to turn quickly on my heel, "If I did explain, you wouldn't like it."

Looking stricken, Anne said, "Was it ever me? Or, were you always just trying to get to her? Yes, I know that she was always trying to take things away from me, but I'm more than certain there would have been better ways to get her."

"If it makes you feel at all better," I mumbled, "she wasn't the reason for me to go to you in the first place. And she wasn't the reason I continued seeing you."

"And, so, what is this?" Anne's volume was increasing by the second. "Were you only pimping her for yourself or something?"

I was revolted. "No! Of course not."

"Funny. If you were I would have considered forgiving you."

I forced my eyes not to flicker upwards. "I'm not going to ask for your forgiveness. I don't know how to do this, but what we had, if it really was anything at all, is over. I won't marry you, and I won't see you anymore. I'm leaving Beaversdam by the end of the week, and I'm not planning on coming back."

She hardened her glare. "Oh, and I suppose you're planning to take that whore with you?"

Half-wanting to hit her, I remained still, however furious I was. I spoke with my voice low. "Never refer to Lucy like that ever again."

"What can you do about it?" Anne's hands went to her hips. "I can speak however I want to; and after all, if we are through, you really have no say in what I say or do not say. However, Edmund, I do not want to be through with you. You know where I stand, and I do think that we can make this work."

I had had enough. "You only want me because Lucy has me. You say that she takes everything of yours, but frankly, you're threatened by her. You gave yourself away asking me what she has that you don't. It's the most obvious of tells. If you won't admit it, you're lying to yourself."

With a loud clapping noise, I felt a somewhat familiar hand strike across my cheek. "You incomprehensible bastard. Get out of my sight, and how dare you even begin to talk to a woman like that. Take her, go on, she's barely even pretty; wait and see if you're still satisfied with what you've done. Leave now and see if I give a damn!"

I wanted to shout out, but the hurt look in Anne's eyes convinced me to stay silent, because after all, sometimes it is best to let the woman get the last word. However, I waited until the door slammed behind me to seethe through my teeth, "I certainly won't."

I did not leave the Featherstones' land, as the wise decision would be, however, I cut through their lawn towards the cabin which I had become so familiar with, having the intention to smooth things over with the girl I loved.

It was Albert, evidentially back form his work, who saw me at the door, and obviously without the intention of letting me in. I knew this was bound to go over badly when he put his hand on my shoulder and said, literally dragging me away from the cabin, "Fancy a bit of a walk, Martin?"

Once we had put a good half-mile between Lucy and me, which was the whole reason for this walk I am sure, Albert said slowly, "You have one fantastic poker face, do you know that?"

I froze, wondering exactly how much even he knew. Thankfully, the gamekeeper went on, reassuring me that his phrasing was only a coincidence. "If I were able to determine my judgment on you solely off of what I have seen, or even off of what my youngest thinks of you, you would be exactly the sort of boy I would want Lucy to fall for. You're able to keep a responsible job, determined, abstinent from alcohol, and you know that I will never be able to thank you enough for saving Gael's life, but there is more to you than that."

I forced myself to shrug. "There's more to everyone, isn't there? Everyone has a secret or two."

"That wasn't what I meant." Albert said, his voice more dry than I had ever thought possible. "To be entirely frank, you aren't healthy for Lucy. You're an engaged man, and you shouldn't have been in my house unsupervised with her to begin with, even if you only wanted to apologize and be out."

I wanted to run; of how much precisely was Albert aware? He hadn't tried to strangle me yet, so I was guessing that he was unaware of what had happened on the same day of which he was referring. "Was." I muttered, saying all that I could, "I'm not engaged anymore. Never really was, actually. That's what I wanted to tell Lucy—we had a misunderstanding."

"I'm not going to pretend to know anything about you, really," Albert said. "But what you have to be aware of is that I have to take care of my family, and as my whole world revolves around Lucy and Gael, I have to decide what's best for the both of them. It wasn't easy, and I had to go through every detail, but I've made my decision. I've found that, as of now, it is Lucy's emotional state that is the most important. I should be engaged myself soon enough and so Gael won't be alone all the time for very much longer, but nothing will ever relieve the hole you left in Lucy."

"I'm sorry," I said. "But, if I could have five minutes with her, maybe I could repair the damage I've done."

"Why in the name of the Emperor-over-the-Sea would I allow that?"

"Because my world revolves around Lucy, too."

I was surprised with how readily the answer came to me, or even that it was the honest answer. I made a mental note to stop reading those romantic tragedies Lucy got me interested in, and looked towards Albert.

"No," came Albert's steadfast reply. "I'm only thinking about Lucy. You've broken her too many times already. You two may honestly love each other, but she has been fifteen for barely three months, and to see the sort of sadistic, self-destroying relationship the two of you seem to have to go on for another minute would kill me. I have to be up front with you now." He sighed, "I do not want you to come anywhere near my house any longer, and I don't even want to hear about you having any interaction with either of my girls." Only a seasoned gambler could tell that, at this next sentence, his tone lightened. "You understand why I'm doing this?"

He was doing it to protect her, of course I understood. Any father with a right mind would do the same, and I knew it. All I could do, however, was nod numbly. For the first time I really understood that the game of love was the Find the Lady of life; you could not win. Added to this, I understood one of the most burning rules to the game; if you love someone, and honestly love them, you will step down and watch her go without a word, because Aslan knows that she deserves better than pathetic little you.

**A/N: The use of the word 'pimp' in this chapter was just for you. And you know who you are. It's thanks for helping me out so much, even though I didn't actually do your (totally boss) idea. Oh! And did you know that it was first coined in 1607? Crazy fun stuff there. **


	17. What Turns Things Around

The time had finally come around, the time to pay back that Tarkaan Rabadash everything my father owed and to forget about all of this. Forget about it? That would be rather impossible, wouldn't it? It has left scars on all three of us, and these last few months will be on my mind for the rest of my life, I'd imagine. For the rest of my life, my mind will forever be reliving everything I had seen and done, and I will forever be living in the past.

I sat glumly in the window, watching the busy streets of Beaversdam, and wondering how people went on with their lives, curious as to how some people could go on with their lives, and make merry, while others felt as though they finally hit rock bottom. Did the other people know that someone's life had crumbled to pieces and ruin? I wouldn't imagine so, tragedies like these feel like a rarity when they happen to you; but the cruel truth is that they happen every hour of every day, and there is no way getting around it.

When the time came to, I helped Father load up a few saddlebags onto a gelding we were borrowing, and then he asked me if I would like to go with him to pay back the Tarkaan. If he had extended this invitation five months ago, I would have accepted it. As it was, I decided to remain at home with my mother. He nodded, and said, "All right then. Don't wait up for me tonight. I should be late."

I did not ask what he was going to do after giving the money to Rabadash; I already knew that he was going to start the cycle again. "Well, I'll tell Mother that you said goodnight."

Father just gave me a queer look as he straddled the gelding and trotted away. Once he was completely out of eyeshot, I walked back into the house. It was rather nice inside; all the windows were wide open, and while this let the hot summer air in, it also allowed the breeze to circulate throughout the rooms, as though playing hide-and-seek with itself.

I sat at the windowsill again, but in the middle of my preparations to allow my eyes to glaze over and let my mind wander, and I hoped I would go into some sort of daydream that would distract me from everything, my mother called to me.

"Are you feeling all right?" she asked me on shaky breath. If her own condition weren't so serious, it would have been comical to see such a sickly woman ask about me like that.

"I don't know," I mumbled. "I don't really feel anything, to be completely honest."

"Why?"

I would not usually tell my mother everything, but as it happened, I wanted to talk about it; and I wanted someone to tell me what to do. Once I was finished, Mother, to my surprise, began to cough and laugh at once, the former brought on by the latter. I offered her water, which she declined and grabbed a hold of herself once more.

She shook her head. "Edmund, if you want Lucy, you go and get her." Coughing once more, she managed to continue on level breath, "You weren't raised to be a pacifist. Make love or make war, but make something happen."

"I think that's what started the problems in the first place," I mumbled. "Me making things happen, it's only turned into a mess, and besides, Lucy's too good for me."

Continually shaking her head, Mother managed to say in between gasps of air. "In that case, marry her; when you're with a woman who you know is too good for you, marry her because she's it."

I sighed. "I can't. What good have I ever done for Lucy? I can't be so selfish to ask her to give her entire life up just because she's the only person I could ever be with."

"What good have you done for her? I should think it was obvious."

I stood still. I did not think it was obvious. All I have ever done was confuse her and turn her world on its head, and I suppose it's not that debatable that I ruined her life.

Mother continued: "You loved her, and that's more than all of the bad things, in my opinion. You showed her what it really means when a man loves a woman, and what it feels like when she loves him back. It's your choice, whether or not you want to defy the rules set for you, but I have to tell you; you may regret it forever if you don't."

This conversation would have gone on, if it weren't for Mother suddenly getting chilled and having to send me into the hallway for blankets. I had become rather confused. Mother wanted me to go after Lucy, that was clear, but I knew that she should have someone better than me, and Albert made it clear several nights before that I was "unhealthy" for her, and I couldn't help but think that he was probably right.

I still kept my Knave of Spades card up my sleeve, although I sometimes traded him out for the Queen of Hearts, only when I was seriously missing Lucy, but I began to wonder why. Why should I keep cards stacked in my sleeve when I was not playing to begin with? When there are no games involved, why take the preparation?

It was then that I realized my addiction, and it was then that I realized that I did not need it anymore. Oh, I was not completely over it, I knew. I still had the urge to run into the street and ask any passerby if they wanted to play a hand, but I found that it was not as pronounced.

At one point, I had said that I was separating myself into two people, I was Edmund Martin, the brainless girl-charmer, and I was Edmund Martin, the most fantastic cardsharp on this side of the Great River. Now I came to the realization that I wasn't either of those. I was, in fact, Edmund Martin, the empty book, the nothing; I was simply Edmund. If this should feel like a pleasant revelation, I have to tell you that it was not; I felt like there was a good deal more than half of me missing. I had nothing, and I had no one.

It is more than a little well-known fact that boys my age tend to have more testosterone than they know what to do with. It is an unpleasant fact that I was trying to suppress, because it hurt too much. Every time I allowed my mind to sit idly, this would, without warning, surge up inside me, and I faced my memories. Sometimes these memories were just a quick kiss or sitting beside Lucy after we struggled to get the window closed, but then again, sometimes they were vivid down to the scent of the clothing and the taste of her mouth. I hated myself for what I had done.

I never realized when I was slipping into these memories until I was in the middle of it, and so it was. Lucy was right there, so it seemed, and she was handing me back my dice, asking me if they were mine, and telling me that they only ever landed on seven. I replied with an overly dramatic bluff to which she saw through, then I kissed her hand, I remembered that it had been awkward at the time, but when I recalled it, I felt lightning.

The lightning jostled me from my daydream. I ran my fingers through my hair and came to the sudden realization; I had to leave Beaversdam more quickly than I thought. I would undoubtedly go mad if I did not.

I quickly concocted a plan, and I perfected it to the best of my ability. Once I thought I had it figured out, I made my announcement over supper.

Susan was rather aghast. "And where do you intend to go?"

"Don't know," I said through a mouthful of some thick stew. "Possibly Beruna, but I can live with a nomadic life until I find work somewhere."

"So, let me make sure I'm hearing you correctly," my cousin's hands were folded over the table. "You are planning on packing up a couple of pairs of clothes and walking to who knows where, and you may or may not be able to get a job or places to stay. You have no real plan, you just want to get away from the city."

"Well, if you want to sum it up like that," I muttered. "I prefer to take things on chance, if you haven't been able to tell."

Scoffing, Susan reacted. "Because that's worked out so well for you. Just think about this for a minute. You have even less of a plan than last time. Why not just stay here? You have a place to stay, and if you ever want to leave my house you already have a job."

"But then I'd have to see them," I said. "That's what I can't live with."

"It's a big city. You might be surprised."

"Well then," I stood, no longer very hungry. "Since you seem to have all of the answers, what's going to happen to Lucy? You yourself said what could happen to her!"

"And so you would rather run away and turn the blind eye to what could happen?" Susan was a good match for me in arguments. I think it was a part of the Martin bloodline.

I could not retaliate. With nothing else to do, I stumbled towards the window and sat in it, watching the streets remain busy, even though it was late, and in turn, checking every few minutes to make certain that Mother was still breathing.

XXXXXXXXX

I woke up before the sun peaked over the horizon, and I set out for the shop almost an hour before I was supposed to. I knew that there was possibly a more professional way to quit, but I wasn't thinking about it. I entered the shop with my resignation letter in my fist, and I walked up towards the counter, which Peter was cleaning with a rag, and I handed it to me.

After reading it, Peter looked at me from under his brow. "What's all this about?"

"I'm giving up my job," I mumbled. It was my decision to leave, and I felt like a bloody coward for doing so, but I felt as though it were something I had to do. Both Susan and Mother tried to persuade me to stay, but I could not. I felt brutish and stupid in a way that made no sense. I was attempting to fill up that empty book which was me, but I was trying to fill it with invisible ink.

"Look, Susan told me what you're up to, and I have to be honest. Do you really think it will solve anything at all?"

"Yes," I yelled far to quickly. "No. I don't know. I don't know anything anymore! I've been told I can't have anything to do with the Pevensies so what else do I have to stay in Beaversdam for?"

Peter blinked. "Since when do you do what you're told?"

"Since now apparently," I said bitterly.

"I know you know what happened to Anne's last maid who got fired on similar charges." Peter sighed. "But you know that that won't happen to Lucy."

"How?" I felt childish to ask it, but I needed to know that she would be safe. I knew it then; I never would have left if there were the possibility that my Lucy would get taken advantage of, even though I felt like I had done it myself, it was irrelevant in my mind when I thought about what could possible happen.

"She has her father looking out for her, and Corin, me, and, why, I'd imagine you would be the first one there if she cried out for help."

I frowned. "With that, I'm sorry, Peter, for leaving you alone to work here. It isn't fair, and I'm sorry. Since Lucy is going to be all right, I don't see any reason for me to stay."

"And here I thought you loved her."

That was the last word spoken on that matter, because right that moment, Lucy came rushing in through the door, her hair flying every which way, overly pale, and with a rather manic look in her eyes. She ran, to my amazement, right into my arms, and began frantically speaking. "Is she here? Oh, please say she's here!"

"Are you talking about Gael?" Peter asked, coming up and putting a hand on Lucy's shoulder, we both already knew that it was, but there seemed little else to say, I stayed still, letting Lucy squeeze my arms.

She nodded rapidly. "I can't find her anywhere! Aslan knows where she is if she isn't here. She was fine a half hour ago, and then she was just gone. She's not in the house, or even on the grounds, Father has all of the hunting dogs looking for her in the woods. Is she here?"

"I'm sorry, she isn't here." Peter spoke gravely, we all knew what this could possibly mean, and none of us wanted to admit it.

Lucy lost her balance, and for a moment, all of her weight was on my arms until she regained her equilibrium. Once she was standing once more, she scrunched up her face. "I don't understand it. She wasn't alone, I was with her. But then, she just slipped away."

Even though Lucy continued speaking, my mind was elsewhere. Something she had said tipped me off, and it acted rather like a tell. It was, honestly, something more in the way she said it than what she said exactly. People had looked in the house, on the grounds, and even in the woods; this was the last resort, and now as it appeared Lucy spoke, stretched thin and desperate, I hated it. However, in a minute of thinking about what was said and what I knew, I had it. I carefully removed Lucy from the haphazard embrace we were in and started for the door.

"Where in the Lion's name are you going?" Peter called after me.

I halfway turned and said, hoping it was enough of a hint for Lucy, "It's a secret."

**A/N: These last few chapters will probably be on the shorter side. Sorry about that.**


	18. In a Tree

Walking briskly as possible, my feet hit the cobblestones in the street hard, I hurried off to the outskirts of the city until I was face to face with the very same tree surrounded with brambles Gael had showed me months ago. The leaves were green and wide, so I could not guarantee that she was even up there, and I knew that she would not answer if I called to her. There was only one other option.

I crouched down onto my hands and knees and I pushed through the little opening in the brambles, they pierced my skin and cut my sleeves once or twice. However, it the bushes were rather thin in this area, cut away to make a sort of tunnel, undoubtedly made by Gael herself, and so I followed it and soon found myself on the other side of the tree.

This tree was gnarled and the branches flew all around, and it seemed as though there were steps, created naturally through the branches, that were just the right size for a young child that was rather small in stature. Looking up through the break in the leaves I noticed a small head with long brown hair sitting on a branch far out overlooking the city. I lifted myself into the tree, and climbed upwards to sit next to the seven-year-old. "You've gotten everyone worried sick, Gael." I said.

Gael turned her head towards me; she had seen me climbing up, so there was no surprise in her young eyes. She looked at me with furrowed brows, as though I were a puzzle she could not solve. Then, she spoke. "Are we still friends, Edmund?"

I thought. Technically Albert didn't want me to be, but regardless, I was up in a tree with her, wasn't I? "Yes, at least right now we are." I said.

"And what about Lucy? Are you still friends with her?"

My feelings for Lucy were a great deal more than friendly, but I was somewhat at a dead end with her, wasn't I? I shrugged. "We shouldn't be. I don't know if she can forgive me."

Chewing on her lip, Gael actually nodded. "She's been pretty upset," she said, and then turned to be with sad eyes, for the first time, not sad for her own feelings, but for her beloved sister. "You broke her, Edmund."

"I know," I muttered.

"If Miriam gets broken," Gael said, thinking hard, "Father can fix her with paste, but Lucy can't be fixed with paste. Do you know why? Because hearts cannot be fixed with paste. Will you fix her for us?"

I shook my head. "I think I actually end up breaking more than I fix."

"But you ought to try."

And this was the first time that I decided to follow the advice of both my mother and a bipolar seven-year-old, and I was absolutely convinced that I was madder than March. I ran my hands through my hair and attempted to redirect the conversation. "How are you feeling today, Gael?" I asked.

She shrugged. "I'm all right."

I blinked saying, "You aren't lonely or sad or anything?"

"No," Gael said, shaking her head.

I just could never figure anything out. I sat and tried to think about it. "Then why did you come here?"

As if it were the most obvious thing in the world, Gael said, "I wanted to think about it. And I go here when I want to be alone without feeling lonely."

"Of course," I said, just deciding never to try to figure out Gael Pevensie again, it was just a headache waiting to happen. "Do you want to head back home now?"

"No, thanks."

"Why? I mean, you have everyone worried sick about you. Aren't you worried that they're going to be angry with you?" I asked, thinking that I could get Gael to come down.

"I can't think about that right now." Gael nodded defiantly. "Didn't you know? Lucy was supposed to move away today. I knew she wouldn't leave if she couldn't say good-bye, and so I just have to stay up here forever and she'll never leave. We'll be sisters forever, just like she promised. And she really did promise it, too. She said, 'I know you might be a little nervous, Gael, I was too,' this was before I was adopted. But she was already adopted, of course. If I was adopted first I would have been her older sister, even if Father and Lucy don't see it that way, it's the way it would've been. Anyway, then she said, 'I remember shaking in my shoes when I first came here from Archenland, and then Father was a bit frightening to me because I had been raised to be afraid of most men. But then things just came to me, I learned about Aslan and Narnia in general; and I got to know our father. Don't worry, he's a wonderful father, and you're going to love it here.'"

Gael took a large breath of air, I wouldn't have imagined her lungs to have that sort of capacity, and then she continued. "And then do you know what she said? Well, I don't really remember what she said just then. But we talked for a long time. It was my first night there, and I couldn't sleep, you see, so Lucy just told me all about Narnia and Aslan and what it was like living with Father, and what she did day after day. She wasn't Anne's maid quite yet, and so she stayed at home, cleaned our house, and then played in town and things. She also promised me that she'd introduce me to her friend Peter. She didn't know at the time that I'd love him, but I do. Anyway, and right when she stopped talking, because she thought I'd gone to sleep, I told her, 'When I grow up, I want to be just like you.' She smiled, and then she said, 'When you grow up, want to be like you.' And then I said, 'Lucy, will we be sisters forever?' She replied, 'I promise we will.'"

I choked a little. "Well, you know, you'll still be sisters even if she moves away," it ripped me in two to say it. "Some things are too strong for distance to keep them apart."

"She'll still technically be a Pevensie, but when she leaves for Archenland we'll never see her again." Gael looked at her hands, and blinked away tears.

"Why is she moving back to Archenland?" I asked, alarmed.

"Corin's father and brother live there," Gael answered steadily. "They came up to Narnia once, and they said if any of us ever needed it, their home would be open to us; Lucy's going to live there until she can find work and a house on her own. She almost cried when she realized that her best option was to go back to Archenland. I wonder why she did that?"

I had a feeling why, but kept my mouth shut. Eventually I put on my most Susan-like voice, and said, "Gael, you're going to have to eat sometime. What about sleeping? You can't stay in a tree your whole life. And, anyway, if you stay up here, you'll never see your Father, or _Peter _ever again. I can't tell them where you are, remember? It's a secret."

Eventually, I managed to coax Gael out of the tree, and once her feet were firmly planted on the ground, she became the girl I remembered. "Do you think they'll be terribly angry with me, Edmund?" she said.

I shook my head, "I think they'll be happy to see you at first, and then the anger might come later on."

She frowned. "I wish I could get away the angry bit."

Almost laughing I said, "I think everyone does."

We walked, silent except for Gael humming a little tune, and the shuffling of our feet. The streets were just as busy as always, which compensated for the lack of noise. I thought that, perhaps, we would run into Lucy or Albert on the way back to their house, and I wouldn't have to worry about going back. Of course, as luck would have it, I didn't run into a single person who would be of any help.

Taking the usual way over the fence, Gael climbed the rope ladder, and sat at the top, waiting for me. I remained on the ground. "You go straight home, all right?" I asked.

Frowning, Gael said, "Father's just angry with you. He should be less angry today, and don't you want to apologize for breaking Lucy?"

I had considered taking Gael all the way home, and waiting until I was sure Lucy and Albert knew she was safe, but I decided against it. What sort of man would use this kind of situation, manipulating others' opinions of him, as an excuse to speak with his Lucy? A cunning and smart man, I'd wager, but who would trust him? I know that I, sure as daylight, would not.

Instead of revealing this, I said, ""Well, yes. But I have to listen to your father, and he doesn't want me anywhere near Lucy, or you."

Gael pouted. "But we're all friends," she said. "And friends don't avoid each other, that completely ruins the point. Friends don't leave each other alone."

"You aren't alone, Gael." I said. "You have your Father, and Lucy, and Peter. You have three people who love you."

"I used to think I had four people who loved me." Then, before disappearing over the other side of the fence, she said, "And I thought that Lucy had the same fourth person. But, don't worry; my birth parents didn't want me, and Lucy was wrenched away from hers; we're both used to it."

As returning home was the very last thing I wanted to do, I walked around the city. While I walked, I wondered what things would be like after I left, and where I would go next. I also wondered if I would continue to think about Lucy so much, and what would happen to her in Archenland. She told me once that she loved it in Narnia, and it always seemed as though droves of demons could not chase her away.

By the time I meandered home, I wanted to lie down, and relax, but unfortunately, I was unable to.

As I entered the little house, I was immediately greeted with the bone chilling cries of my mother, followed by a disgusting racking coughs. As she came into eyeshot, my knees turned to jelly at the sight of the collar of my mother's wild eyes, and mouth dripping in phlegm. "Where is Edmund?" she cried. "Where have you taken him?"

Numbly, I walked over to my mother, "I'm right here," I said, holding her hand for one of the only times in my life. "I'm all right, Mother."

She didn't see me, she just stared through me. "Where's Edmund?" she cried. "I need my son! Where is he? What have you done with him? He's only just a boy!" And she coughed more and more.

"I'm right here." I said, trying not to cry, anything but crying. Finally seeing my mother hallucinating was difficult to bear.

Mother continued ranting and raving about wanting me there, how I was only just a boy, and more nonsense things that I didn't understand. Susan then came into the room, and said to me, "She doesn't see you, and she can't hear you. There's no way to rationalize with her."

I sat there, regardless, listening to my mother scream and call for me, with no knowledge that I was sitting beside her.


	19. Contradictions

I had been thinking too much in those days. When you think all the time, instead of acting, you will know how to win the game. However, by the time you are ready to win the game, all of the cards are in your opponents' hands. Figuratively speaking of course. This was not a game, and I knew it very well, this was life, but the thing fueling my madness was that it was Lucy's life, and I needed to leave it without misunderstandings and miscommunications. In fact, I thought that I was madder than March.

Only a few moments ago, I noticed Albert's cart dragging down the road, led by his old retired geldings. Inside this cart, I saw Lucy sitting up front with a bag on her lap and Gael pouting in the back. Nobody in the cart looked particularly happy.

In the few seconds I had to analyze this, I had made a decision in my head, and before I knew what I was doing, I stepped out into the middle of the street, in front of the cart, and the horses would have reared if Albert hadn't had control of the reins. All three members of the Pevensie family stared at me, but all in very different ways. Albert looked somewhat livid, Gael looked enthusiastic, and Lucy was impossible to read.

Albert looked at me, and said coolly, "I could have run you over, Martin."

"Well, sir," I said, as respectfully as I could. "I don't think you would've stopped if I remained on the side of the road."

"I'll grant you that one."

I halfway cringed. "I wanted to talk to Lucy before she left."

With a firm frown, Albert said, "I don't think that's the best idea."

Lucy turned to her father. "Please, Father, he just wants to talk. What harm can be done in five minutes?"

"You tell me," Albert grumbled, and I froze. What did he know? I never found out for sure.

"Please!" Lucy said at first to Albert, and then she faced me. "So, how have you been?"

I could have laughed at the normality of the question. "I'm not sure," I said. "I know thatI can't very well ask for your forgiveness, but that won't stop me from apologizing. Everything is my fault, and I can't tell you how sorry I am. When you said goodbye to me the last time, I hadn't told you that Father's debt was already cleared. I had no reason to take Anne and I am not going to. I don't know why I thought I could in the first place; I never would have; would've run from the altar." The honesty of these statements startled me. "It was stupidity on my part for not telling you as soon as I entered the house."

"Maybe," Lucy mulled slowly, "maybe we're both to blame. I shouldn't have been so quick to leave."

"You didn't have the choice," I said. "Besides, I only wanted to clear that. That and, I hope you won't leave. I'm the one who should be leaving the city, and I'm going to. You have a family, you shouldn't leave it. I know that, even if you can't stay with them in the cabin, you can find I place to stay."

Lucy shook her head. "And why should you have to leave the city? Because of me? Because I might stay? That doesn't sound right."

"Who said I want to stay?" I was, at first, on the defensive, but then I loosened. "This is a rather stupid argument, isn't it? Beaversdam is a big city. There has to be enough room for the both of us."

Here, Albert intervened. "Yet, somehow, you always seem to wind up wherever she goes."

"Some people would call that luck," I muttered, but then projected to Albert on the cart, "I understand what you asked of me, and I don't mean to disrespect it as much as I am, but I didn't want to see your family torn apart." It was the most innocent and charming group of people I ever saw in my life, and to see it fall apart would be a tragedy in the makings.

Albert's face remained grim as Lucy turned to him. "What did you ask of him, Father?"

"Only that he keep his distance."

"But," Lucy began, a trace of what I might even venture to call defiance in her voice. "Things are different, now. It was a misunderstanding. Don't you see that?"

"How is anything different?" Albert asked. "All of your hurt was real, and the circumstances are still the same."

Father and daughter continued to argue. It rather surprised me to see it, not assuming Lucy to be one to argue with anyone. Obviously she did, it became apparent. That is one of the take backs of people who are so passionate about everything, they tend to defend what it is they're passionate about. Lucy continued to press on my excuse, which I didn't even mean to be interpreted as the hope she was turning it into, and Alert insisted that nothing had changed. It took me a while to step in.

"Lucy," I mumbled, "your father is right. I need to keep my distance so that you can forget about me and get what you deserve. I only wanted to end our relationship on a note less sour."

Frowning, Lucy said, quietly, "I can't believe that. That isn't you, Edmund, it's not like you at all. I mean, you said you loved me. Didn't you mean it?"

I had never thought about how exactly she had been affected by the memories that haunted my brain. Perhaps she needed me as much as I needed her, but maybe she didn't see that I was only thinking about giving her justice. My heart shattered in seeing the desperate look in her eyes. In every possible way, I was worst then dead. I was in quicksand and dropping fast; I was underwater with my lungs on fire; I was standing at a roulette table with an arrow in my chest. I had lost everything.

"I did mean it, of course I did. But, I want you to have someone who deserves you." I insisted, even though the image of Lucy marrying some faceless stranger made me want to vomit.

"Don't I get a say in any of this? Don't you think I have an idea of what I want—or in your words what I deserve?"

I spoke slowly, not meaning to come off as brash as I'm sure I did. "If you think you deserve someone like me, then no, I don't think you do."

"If it were a matter of deserving each other it would be rather simple—even though I think that's a positively rotten way to think about these things. But it's not and it isn't. You said we would make it, and now that we can, you don't want to. Did you change your mind? I want you to be happy, Edmund, but I need to know if you love me the way I love you, because I know that if you do, you can't possibly be happy with this decision of yours. It isn't about deserving each other, Edmund, it's about loving each other."

Suddenly, Gael jumped up from her seat in the cart and rushed over to me. "I have an idea. And it's good. We let _chance _decide. Let's say that if Edmund has a king or an ace up his sleeve, everyone goes on with their plans as they were. If he has a queen in his sleeve, Lucy stays here with us and if it's a knave Edmund stays."

"Gael," Albert called from his seat, phrasing this as gingerly as he could. "That isn't how you solve grownup problems."

Huffing, Gael said, "Well, they aren't grownups either. Lucy's fifteen and Edmund is almost seventeen. That doesn't count, you said. Besides, no one else is coming up with anything. All of you are just talking about the problem or making faces about it."

The little girl pulled me nearer the cart by my arms. "And I wasn't done," she said, "if Edmund has nothing up his sleeves, then they both stay here and they _have_ to make up."

Somehow, Gael's logic as she explained and prodded further worked on us, although I couldn't tell you how. I tried to protest, wondering which card I had stuffed in my sleeve that morning, not remembering for the life of me. I couldn't think straight, more than certain it was a knave, and that my life would be over, when Lucy came down to check the opposite sleeve Gael grabbed, and I heard the most surprising thing ever as Gael cheerfully decleard, "Nothing in his left sleeve."

Immediately following this was Lucy's stupefied murmur. "There isn't anything in his right sleeve either."

I knew I put a card in my sleeve, I knew it, but it was not the time to dwell on it. "I suppose you and I have to make up now," I said.

Lucy nodded, "I suppose so."

Something rose within me, and once the idea was there, it would not let me go. It was an impulse, truly. Perhaps part of the madness that made me do this in the first place. Before I knew what I was doing, I had already said it, and I was already doing it. It felt like déjà vu. "Do you know where you're going to live, now that it looks like you're staying here?"

Lucy shook her head. "I'm not sure," she admitted.

"You could try with me," I said, my heart thumping, wondering why I was doing this now. Weren't women supposed to be the ones who rushed things?

Her face snapped into seriousness. "Edmund Martin, that isn't funny," she said.

I scratched the base of my neck, feeling red creep up into my face. "I wasn't trying to be funny. Maybe I should be more straightforward from now on. Prevent more miscommunications."

Lucy just looked forward, confused by this point. I continued. "I don't think I'm entirely sane right now, just know that. I was trying to ask you if you wanted to marry me."

She gaped. "What?"

"I don't know what I'm doing," I said, speaking quickly enough. "But I know that if you'll have me, I would do anything and everything to keep you happy and well, and we can clear everything up. You're right, you always are and you always have been. I shouldn't contradict myself so much, but I did say that I wanted to make it work, and now that all of the fog is cleared up, and now that I know that you don't seem interested in letting me go, I do want to make it work; I always did."

Admittedly I had forgotten that it wasn't only Lucy and me in the street. She gave me a crooked smile. "If I didn't say yes," she said, "I think I'd wonder for the rest of my life if I had."

"So it's a no?" I asked, dejected, feeling like I wanted to crawl under a rock.

"No," Lucy grabbed my hand.

"So it is no."

"No, it's yes."

I repeated it, my entire vocabulary limited to this, "Yes?"

"Yes," she nodded.

"Yes as in not no? Are you sure? You're sure? Absolutely?"

"Edmund—yes, of course. You propose to me, and then you question my answer. Ed, you are a walking contradiction," she said, and I felt myself deflate a little, but then I lifted through the clouds at what she said next. "But that is what I fell in love with in the first place, isn't it?"

She started laughing, not at me, for I was laughing with her, and not because it was humorous. We were laughing from the high that the situation gave the both of us, and as I pulled in to kiss her, I knew and truly knew that it was more than anything I've ever known. Fate didn't arrange this either, and I knew that; as she isn't so benign to me, but after all, she has a lot to do, sometimes you have to give her a hand yourself.

XXXXXXX

I pulled Gael aside later that day, while things were buzzing with news, Lucy was meeting my mother, and unfortunately for me, Mother was well enough to tell her a story from when I was around a year old and had an apparent habit of undressing myself and toddling around naked. I left the room, embarrassed, midway through it.

"What did you want to talk about?" Gael asked me.

"You know," I said, "I was more than certain that I put a card in my sleeve this morning, so a few minutes ago I went to check. My deck is missing two cards."

"That's too bad," Gael said, pseudo-sadly.

"I burnt one, but that means I'm still missing one," I continued to press her for the information, something in my head telling me she knew something.

"That is how you would to the subtraction."

"Gael," I said. "I think you had something to do with it. And if you did, I need to thank you for it. I wouldn't be engaged to Lucy right now if you hadn't stuck your nose in."

Gael grinned broadly, and with a flick of her wrist, brought up the Knave of Spades from out of her sleeve as well as a pair of dice that I wasn't aware I had lost. "You aren't the only cardsharp in Narnia," she said and tossed the dice onto the floor.

It landed on seven.

**A/N: This is the end…but stay tuned for the epilouge. Please review!**


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